Carol: Called Julesang
by BlooAngels
Summary: A dark betrayal shatters an innocent life. After centuries of non-involvement, what, if anything, will Asgard do to stop an ancient evil from consuming Midgard? Rated M for mentions of torture, rape, child abuse, and dark themes. Starts pre-Thor and ends at the end of the Battle of Manhattan. BalderXOC, LokiXOC
1. Iceland: April 2000

"Pencils down: heads up," Professor Hinrik Töframaður said crisply, "turn your exams over, and pass them to the left down the aisle. My assistant will pick them up. Results will be POSTED," he raised his voice over the murmur of students and the waving of hands, "on my office door at the end of next week."

A general grumble of malcontent made him scowl, and he raised his voice again when it seemed his class was ready to mutiny before their time had been completed. Auditorium chairs were already squeaking, and his assistant had not yet picked up all of the shuffling exams. He called the class back to order.

"PEOPLE, please remain seated, we are not yet done for the day!" More grumbling ensued as students reclaimed their chairs. "I want to _remind you_ of the project due at the end of next week! You must research a religious ritual, one you were NOT raised with, explain it in detail, and expound on its virtue to the worshipper and the community in general. COMPARE and CONTRAST it to the faith in which you were raised. Yes, Mr. Sykes, I realize you are an atheist, put your hand down. Atheism is every bit as much a faith as any organized religion, and has its own modes of behavior. I expect a fair and balanced research and recounting of the ritual chosen, and not a pseudo-scientific dismissal of whatever you consider as 'pagan ignorance'. Miss Oliver? Yes, you may work in groups of two or three, so long as each one of you is of a different religious persuasion. Mr. Trent? No, you are not required to take part in a ritual; observing and recounting will be fine. Any more questions may be EMAILED TO ME over the weekend. I will get back to you on MONDAY," the exasperated old man cut off any further questioning hands with a scowl. Honestly, didn't _anybody _read the syllabus?

Carol Dahl had read the syllabus; her only problem was in finding a religion other than her native Christianity. In a country that was 80% Lutheran, she wondered if simply choosing another denomination would suffice. She closed her binder with a _snap_ and gathered her coat, her auburn-infused curls refusing to behave themselves (again) and her eyes itching with fatigue. Her contacts needed adjusting. Again. Greaaaaaat.

Carol spared a glance to the bottom of the lecture hall, where her professor had changed from a scowling old codger into a beaming grandfather. The girl that nearly tackled him couldn't be more than 14, and was cute as a bug. _Isolde_, she reminded herself, having met the child on more than one occasion. She was a bright girl, with the typical white-blond hair and rosy cheeks of many Icelanders. Isolde was already filling out nicely, even for her tender years. _She's going to break a lot of hearts_, Carol smiled to herself.

Crisp springtime air greeted her outside the lecture hall, and Carol quickly found her way to the campus coffee shop: Odin's Table. It could still be nippy in the spring, though the flowers peeping out of the pine needles didn't seem to mind. She didn't want to catch a cold now: now that the weekend was here. _Last class until Monday, yay! _Carol thought, making her way through the line. She emerged with her steaming café mocha latte and a pastry to find a table full of classmates waving her over.

"So, Carol! Have you any idea what religion you're going to research for your paper?" Bjarni asked. (Carol called him 'Blarney' constantly, much to his amusement) "We're all trying to figure that out, too. What were you raised as?"

"Well, I'm Irish, so I'll jest let ye guess on that one a while," Carol said with a grin.

"Ooooh, I know!" Svana's eyes sparkled. "You're a _Druid_!" Svana was the beauty of the group, with thick blond hair and a penchant for partying. Rumor said she was a nymphomaniac, but Carol discounted such gossip. Besides, it was none of her business.

Carol laughed at her friend. "Don't be daft! Of course not!"

Hinrik's face puckered in confusion. "Aren't there any Druids left in Ireland?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "Aye, probably so, but they'll be in the minority. I were raised a tad more conservative, if ye take my meanin'."

"My family is Lutheran," Torvald volunteered, "but I'm not." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, unless my mother calls."

Hallbjorn snorted. "Gutless. Typical of you, Torvald. When are you going to stand up for what you believe?" Hallbjorn was the de facto leader of their little group of friends, but Carol had a difficult time liking him. Dark haired and often brooding, he had an arrogance she didn't like and was completely sexist. Some of the looks he gave her were downright predatory, which gave her the creeps. Fortunately, she wasn't dating him. That dubious honor went to Svana.

_What she wants to put up with is her business._ Carol thought to herself.

"When I feel the time is right, I'll tell them," Torvald shrugged.

"You don't believe any more?" Carol asked curiously.

"Not really," Torvald admitted. "I had too many questions my parents couldn't answer, and then, well..."

"You discovered sex," Lilijana candidly stated. Torvald looked at her, scandalized, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Well, it's true. You may as well come out and admit it. It isn't like we aren't all adults here!" she added. Lilijana was Carol's roommate, an outspoken girl with light brown hair.

"So, what about you, Carol?" Bjarni asked again. "I was raised by atheists, but I think I'm an agnostic now," he explained.

"Raised by wolves, ye mean," Carol joked, and then saw the hurt look on Bjarni's face. "I don't really mean that, Bjarni. I've jest had some bad run-ins with atheists over the last year."

"_Hálfviti_," Svana snapped, her homeland's word for 'morons', "I have no patience for a closed mind!"

"Here, here!" Carol agreed, raising her latte in a toast. "I feel the same way!" She took another sip of her coffee drink. "So, what about you, Svana?"

Svana cleared her throat. "I'm," _ahem_, "a pagan."

Carol's eyebrows went up. "So, are _you_ the Druid of this little band? We simply _must_ compare notes! I was raised Roman Catholic, ye see," she explained.

It was Svana's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Roman Catholic? Really?" She _hmmmed_ about that for a minute. "Do you really pray to God's mother? I've always found that confusing."

"Not because she disapproves," Hallbjorn added quickly, "our coven recognizes many different gods and goddesses. We're Wiccans," he explained for his girlfriend.

"Ah, I have a friend back home that practices the craft as well," Carol nodded. "We stay in touch with email. And no, we don't really say that God has a Ma, like you're thinkin', Svana. Mary's title as 'Mother of God' is really about Jesus bein' God e'en while He was in her womb, ye see. She were only human-not a deity-but blessed with the job of bearin' the Christ," she explained.

"Now _that_ finally makes sense," Torvald said thoughtfully. "Where were you when I was pestering my folks with this?"

"Ireland," Carol said matter-of-factly.

"I've been to Mass with you a few times," Lilijana said casually, "but I don't really understand it. Can you explain the bread-and-wine thing for me? Is that a ritual, or just part of one?"

Carol nodded. "That be Communion. Think of it as a sacrificial meal: the bread is Christ's body, which was sacrificed for us, and the wine is His blood. When we take Communion, we're eating the Lamb sacrificed for our sins, and receive the blessing that comes from the sacrifice."

"Hmm," said Bjarni, seeming to understand. He turned to Hallbjorn. "Do Wiccans make sacrifices?"

Hallbjorn nodded. "Yes, but nothing like a sacrifice for so-called 'sins'. Ours are presents to whatever deity is being petitioned, or a celebration of a particular event. We have lots of those. Our biggest event is on Mid-Summer's Night; we have a big sacrifice and eat it around a bonfire."

Carol sipped her latte thoughtfully. "Too far away to help with the paper, though." She looked over at Svana. "Do you have any smaller events that I could attend, just to observe? I bet I couldn't go to the big'un, anyway, e'en as you canna take Communion with me."

Svana nodded. "We have one tomorrow night: we're consecrating the altar to be used this Mid-Summer's Night. It's a small ceremony out in the woods," she explained.

"Why don't we all make a trip out of it?" Hallbjorn said casually. "My uncle has a cottage near the place. We can all get away for a while, hike in the woods, and relax. It'll be a nice break," he suggested.

"What about your ceremony?" Lilijana asked.

Hallbjorn shrugged. "Those who want to watch can watch. If you want to take part, it's up to you. _We_ don't exclude anybody who really _wants_ to take part," he explained, with a knowing look at Carol.

Carol rolled her eyes at the obvious jab. It wasn't Hallbjorn's first dig; it wouldn't be his last. _Let him be an arse_, she thought, _I'm not dating him_. "So, to what god or goddess are ye consecrating this altar?" she asked, curiously.

"Surtr, God-King of Muspelheim," Hallbjorn answered loftily, "Wielder of the Fire of Creation, Holder of the Energy of Life."

"Cool, I'll go," said Torvald.

"Yeah, count me in," said Lilijana.

"Sounds interesting," said Bjarni.

"Are you going to kill an animal?" Carol asked, a little squeamish. "I dinnae think I could watch that without being sick," she explained.

Hallbjorn waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing like that. It will be an interesting ceremony, I promise, but no killing."

"Ok, I'll go," Carol committed.

/

Carol spent the rest of her evening packing for the weekend, and trying to look up Surtr or Muspelheim in the library. With the latter she had no success. Finally, at wit's end, she sent an email to Jamieann in Ireland-her Wiccan friend, asking for any advice for the upcoming ritual or information on Surtr or Muspelheim.

Not surprisingly, she didn't get a reply until the next day. Fortunately, she and Jamiann had started text-messaging each other on their new cell phones (they had always loved trying out the latest technologies).

Unfortunately, she didn't get the message until she was crammed into the backseat of Bjarni's car with Lilijana and Torvald.

The message was short and to the point.

**SURTR A DEMON. DONT GO**

What the hell?

Carol stared at the phone in shock. She hadn't checked her email before leaving that morning, not expecting an answer from Jamiann so quickly. The sudden text message was unusual from her friend; Jamiann had obviously expected her to call back right away.

As a Roman Catholic, Carol had been taught that the so-called gods of other pantheons were _all_ considered demons. This had been a sticking point between her and Jamiann since secondary school, since most of the spirits in her pantheon were considered 'good' by alignment. Demons were, by definition, only evil. For the lass to be concerned enough to contact her with such a warning meant her friend was genuinely concerned.

Not that she could do much about it now. They were an hour into a journey that would take at least two, bumping along the Icelandic highway towards a cottage near the foot of the dead Hekla volcano. Carol didn't have her own car in Iceland; she didn't have the money for it, so she was dependent on her friends for rides outside of Reykjavik.

Like now.

She closed her phone and put it back in her jacket pocket before anybody else could see the message, but not before Torvald saw the look on her face.

"Is everything all right?"

She gave him a wan smile. "I dinna know," she confessed. Patting her jacket pocket, she explained. "I jest received a message from a friend back home. I need to call her when we get to the cottage. Somethin' may be amiss."

Bjarni glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. "There may be a landline at the cottage you can use, Carol. I don't think you'll get any cell reception near Hekla."

She nodded, her face now clouded with doubt. Torvald saw the look on her face and patted her knee in a comforting gesture.

"I'm sure everything will be all right," he soothed. He continued to study her face and her hair for a moment and then changed the subject. "You're not what I expected from an Irish girl," he admitted.

"Let me guess," Lilijana snorted, "white skin, red hair, and a shamrock?"

"Well," he stammered,

"Did ye think there were no black people a'tall in Ireland?" Carol gave him a mildly annoyed look and pulled his hand off of her knee, where he had started tracing patterns with his fingers. He had been trying to ask her out for the better part of the last year.

"Well," he stammered again, "I guess I never really thought about it."

"Besides, I'm only half," she informed him, brushing away his fingertips again. "An' stop that."

Lilijana gave her a questioning look. "Half what?"

"Half black," she told her roommate. "My da is black, an' my ma is white. T'was quite the scandal when they married, years ago. There's still some folks what don't agree with mixin' the races, ye see. On top o' that, my da wasn't Catholic at the time. He were a Protestant. He had to convert to Catholicism before gran and gramps would consent to the match, but he said he dinna mind."

"Couldn't they have eloped?" Lilijana was openly curious now.

"Aye, they could have, I suppose," Carol said with a nod. "But that would have meant ouster for my ma from her church and her family, an' he dinna want to put her through that. The Dahl clan-my Da's folks-they're Protestants and more acceptin' o' such differences."

"Wow, that was really nice of your da-your dad, I mean."

Carol grinned. "Keep it up, Lilijana, and I'll have ye speakin' like a good Irish lass in no time a'tall."

"We're here!" Bjarni announced a short time later.

TBC


	2. Participants in the Altar

They eventually arrived at the cottage and unpacked, but the phone was out of service. The view of the volcano was breathtaking, so after lunch they all hiked in the hills behind the cottage, enjoying the scenery. It was a beautiful day, though still a little nippy. The girls gathered what wildflowers they could find, Svana explaining she needed as many as she could for the evening's ceremony. When they got back to the cottage Svana sat down with a large bowl and began pulling the petals off, separating them into a larger container filled with potpourri.

"Do ye need a hand?" Carol volunteered. There were a lot of flowers to process, and Svana looked tired.

Svana nodded. "That would be nice, thank you."

"So, Svana," Carol said, dropping into another seat across from her friend, "can I ask ye about tonight's ritual?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Well, this altar. Is it something ye built?"

Svana frowned and 'hmmmmmed' for a minute. "Not exactly. The stone base is old-it's the remains of another cult's-but the top is an addition of ours. We needed a stable base for offerings and consecrations, so we built a regular wooden covering on top of the stone foundation."

Carol blinked. "The foundation is from another religion? Which one? I thought Iceland was mostly Lutheran?"

Svana smiled. "It wasn't always. The altar we're using tonight was originally used for offerings to the Norse pantheon, specifically Frigga."

"Odin's wife, goddess of marriage and childbirth," Carol nodded, continuing to separate flower parts, "I remember from Literature class."

"Oops, not that one," Svana said, pulling out a branch that resembled golden lilacs. "That's Frigga grass; we can't use it. It'll ruin the consecration."

"I'll get a vase. We can put it on the table tonight for dinner. It's too pretty to throw away," Carol explained.

The girls chatted amicably for another half hour about different points of the ritual, until Carol thought she had a fair idea of what to expect. A deeper understanding would help her write her paper. Finally she had one more question.

"Um...Svana," she began, and blushed.

"Yes?"

"Will anybody be sky-clad this evenin'?"

Svana stopped scooping flower petals into her mixing bowl. "Sky-clad? Whatever is that?"

"Um...you know..._naked_," Carol whispered. She had learned the term from Jamiann years ago, and knew it was common in Wiccan outdoor rituals.

Weather permitting, of course.

"Oh..._OH_...we have a different term for that," Svana flustered, almost spilling a handful of flower petals. "And the answer is no. Well, _probably_ not, I should say. I expect we'll all be in robes. It depends on what the high priest decides. We usually only do _that_ for fertility rituals, and then only when the weather permits. And not in front of visitors," she added hastily.

Carol smiled, relieved. "That be a load off me mind," she admitted.

"It _was_ strange at first," Svana confessed, "but eventually I got comfortable with it, and with the others, too."

"Being comfortable with your own body is a good thing, Carol. It isn't anything to be ashamed of, you know," Hallbjorn seemed to come out of nowhere, apparently aware of their conversation, though the ladies had tried to keep their voices down. "Just like our coven's group trystings: they're all part of the bonding experience. I've never understood the Christian aversion to sex. It's outdated, if you ask me."

Carol was instantly annoyed. "I'll have ye know, Hal, that I'm _perfectly _comfortable with me own body! That I dinna want _you_ to be comfortable with me body, an' that I believe that there be a special time and place reserved for love-makin', is no the same as an 'aversion to sex'! I've shown ye nothin' but respect for your beliefs, since ye shared 'em, and I'd appreciate a little o' the same courtesy!"

Carol's Irish temper was starting to rile, and Hallbjorn actually backed off, surprised. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I didn't mean to offend," he started in a lofty tone, but Carol cut him off.

"You've a load o' old bollocks! Quite actin' the maggot, and be off with ye, ye caffler!" Carol got extra Irish when she was mad, and right now she was_ furious_. From the look on her face, Hallbjorn knew he had crossed a line, but he had no idea what she had said. He gave her a blank look.

Lilijana spoke up from another doorway. Having roomed with Carol for the better part of the year, she understood some of her more 'Irish' moments.

"She means, Hal, that you're full of dried up bull's testicles, and that you need to stop acting stupid and get away from her, you moron," she translated.

Hallbjorn's eyes widened. _Nobody_ spoke to him like this! He started to inflate, but was cut off by Svana.

"Hal," she said crisply, "don't do or say anything that could jinx tonight's ceremony. As it is, I'm going to have to mention this to the High Priest!"

Hallbjorn opened and closed his mouth twice, before stomping out of the room.

"Svana, ye jest made me night," Carol said softly.

"What do you mean?" The young blond asked, puzzled.

"The way Hal acts most o' the time, I thought he _were_ the High Priest!" she exclaimed, tucking some of the unused yellow flowers into her hair.

Svana snorted.

/_SEVERAL HOURS LATER_/

The sun was low in the sky when the cars reached the small forest clearing. The small group locked their cars and made their way to a circle of smudge pots ("to keep mosquitoes away," Svana explained) that were actively belching smoke-enough to make Carol eyes water. The scent was vaguely familiar, too, almost sweet, and she wondered what the coven used as bug repellent. Within the circle already stood several robed people, including an impressive figure in a flowing red robe, his face covered with a golden mask, from which spiraled golden ram's horns ("for the Ram God," Svana whispered again). He held a staff that seemed to end in a...seriously? She gave Svana an alarmed glance. ("Yes, it's a penis. The Phallic Symbol is important. ") A large cooking fire crackled merrily nearby, and Carol glimpsed what looked like hot-dog forks on a nearby table.

Hallbjorn and Svana excused themselves and walked over to the high priest, and while Carol couldn't hear their conversation, the effect was immediate. The red-robed figure slapped Hallbjorn on the back of the head and pointed in Carol's direction, apparently displeased. The young man ducked his head as if shamed and made his way back to where Carol stood with Lilijana, Bjarni, and Torvald.

"Carol," he said awkwardly, "I apologize for my behavior earlier today. It was rude of me to slight your faith; I hope I have not made you feel unwelcome."

"Ye've been an ass, but I forgive ye. Don' let it happen again," she replied.

He nodded and waved a hand. "The High Priest of the Coven of Eternal Fire welcomes the visitors to our ritual. Robes have been set aside for all who wish to wear them, as a gesture of welcome." Hallbjorn indicated the pile of robes being carried to them by Svana, and Bjarni, Torvald, and Lilijana each took one. Carol politely declined.

"It might be construed as me participatin' in this ritual, an' that's forbidden to me, Hal," she explained. "I'm jest here to observe."

Hallbjorn nodded, though he scowled for a moment, and he left as the other three friends struggled to put their robes on over their clothes.

Once his robe was on and fastened properly, Torvald beckoned to Carol for a private word.

"I have a confession as well," he murmured. "This isn't just an altar consecration: it's mine, too."

"What do ye mean?"

"I'm joining the coven as a full-fledged member tonight," he admitted in a rush. "I...I wanted to share this with you...I thought it would help you understand me, maybe, and..."

"Torvald," she said gently, "you're a nice lad an' all, but there can be nothin' between us. Especially not now. It's not that I dinna understand you, I just dinna feel for you the way ye wanted me to. An' now I canna. I only have one God, ye see, an' that's not gonna change, now or ever."

He looked stricken. "Carol, I'm sorry. I..." but the call of the High Priest cut him off.

**"Let those who wish to join Surtr's company come to His table!"**

The ceremony was relatively simple in its beginning. Carol stood back as the robed figures, including her friends, formed a circle around the altar. Each person held a small bowlful of flower petals, which they took turns tossing on and around the altar while the High Priest chanted. Carol thought the High Priest's voice sounded familiar, though she didn't recognize the language. She did see him toss some sort of liquid-possibly oil, onto and around the wooden altar top.

The smoke continued to thicken, and Carol started to feel dizzy. Apparently there was some sort of narcotic in the smudge pots...

No, it was **_marijuana_**, she suddenly realized. The sweet, cloying scent of marijuana filled the glen, and the weaving robes were starting to waver in ways not dictated by rhythm or gravity. The strong tenor of the High Priest cut through the smoke again, as Carol tried to pull herself back to sobriety.

**"By oil and water, we consecrate thee! By leaf and petal, we consecrate thee! With joy and pain, we consecrate thee!" **

Joy and pain?

**"Who will give their joy to Surtr?"**

Lilijana and Bjarni were disrobing. What the hell? With a shock, as Lilijana climbed naked onto the altar, Carol realized that Torvald wasn't the only one joining the coven.

She felt sick. Although she knew that Lilijana willingly gave herself to the hands that groped her from all sides, she was still disgusted. When Bjarni climbed on top of the altar, on top of her _roommate_, Carol turned away in revulsion. Tolerance for another's beliefs did not mean she blandly accepted the degradation of something holy, sacred, and private.

**"Surtr is pleased with your offering,"** intoned the High Priest.

Carol seriously thought she would vomit. Turning around, she started to pick her way back to the car.

**"Behold the fount of your passions! Behold the flame of life! Where now is the lamb for the sacrifice?"**

Lamb? Sacrifice? _Hallbjorn had said they weren't killing anything tonight!_ The prospect of bloodletting sickened her even further, and suddenly Jamiann's warning sprang into her mind. _Surtr was a demon_...she couldn't trust any of these people...maybe not even her friends...

A vise-like hand closed on her arm, and Carol looked up into Hallbjorn's eyes, suddenly cold.

"Here is the lamb for the sacrifice!" He declared. The High Priest nodded.

"No, **NO**! **_I'M NOT PART OF THIS_**!" she screamed and kicked at Hallbjorn as he dragged her back to the circle. More hands grabbed her by the arms, the legs...she kicked a few of them in the face, but the sheer weight of numbers pulled her up and onto the flower-strewn altar, still wet from Bjarni and Lilijana's copulation only moments ago.**"LET ME GO!" **She continued to kick and flail, scratching and tearing at anything she could reach, until a fist finally smashed into her face and bounced her head off the table, stunning her.

**"Enough,"** the High Priest intoned, suddenly standing over her with a short, double-edged sword. The golden mask tilted down at her, and Carol saw through the eye-holes. Wrinkled white skin surrounded by white whiskers framed the aged blue eyes that leered at her. The sword made a double pass over her body before coming to rest at her throat. "Blessed is the lamb," he whispered.

"Blessed is the lamb," the coven responded in a monotone.

"Master," a voice protested. _Torvald_, Carol realized.

"Yesss, my boy?" the old lecher answered, never taking his eyes from Carol's.

"She is not willing," the youngster croaked.

The old blue eyes hardened and flickered to the protesting youth. "Eternal life comes at a _price_, boy," he hissed, "one _virtue_ for another. A little fear, a little pain, and much for all of us to gain. Not all who come to Surtr's table do so willingly-at first. Isn't that right, Svana?" The old man turned his eyes to the young blond girl, who stepped up to Carol's head and nodded.

"It isn't so bad, when you get used to it," she whispered, stroking Carol's hair in a comforting gesture. "We said no _killing_...we meant that," she offered apologetically. "I don't _want_ you to die..."

"But the choice is still up to you," the high priest murmured. "You're an intelligent girl, Carol Dahl. I'll let you choose: Life? Or Death? Either way, this will be a night you'll never forget." His spare hand groped Carol's bosom as he spoke, and his fingers flinched when they found the crucifix she always wore. Hissing with pain, he tore it from her neck.

Carol found courage for one last act of defiance: she spit in the High Priest's face. "_Via Dolorosa_," she rasped.

The old man wiped the spittle off of his mask, then inserted his short sword into Carol's blouse and ripped it open.

**"TAKE HER!"**


	3. Via Dolorosa

A/N This story is rated M for a reason, and this chapter is one of them. If reading about rape and torture is a problem for you, feel free to scroll about half-way down, to the sentence fragment "The Frigga grass" appears. Other than that, please review, gentle readers.

Hands came from everywhere, some male, some female, pulling, tearing at her hair, her clothing...pushing her legs apart...

**_PAIN..._**

Hallbjorn was on top of her, leering,_ laughing_, and smashing his way inside her. He grabbed her hair and pulled it back, grunting as he rutted against her pain.

"I'm _comfortable_...with your body...now," he panted, grinning evilly. "I'll be _comfortable_...with you...again later," he promised, the leer disappearing as he grunted and climaxed.

"Burn in Hell," she said through clenched teeth.

He leaned back, still inside her, and slapped her viciously across the face.

"You first, stupid human bitch," he snarled, and then climbed down. "NEXT!" he called out.

The yellow flower Carol had tucked behind her hair, so many hours earlier, came loose and fell to the ground, unnoticed in the gathering darkness. All anybody who watched could see was a massive group rut on a table in the woods, against a girl who screamed and sobbed to the stars.

The fires and smudge pots added an unearthly glow to the bodies that piled on top of her, one after another. She fought, as best as she could, but there were always more hands ready to twist her arms back, to pull her hair out by the roots, to pinch and claw her skin until it bled. Faces began to blend together, features twisting, and Carol could have sworn she saw fangs, pointed ears, horns. _The drugs_, she dimly realized, _they're twisting what I see_...

As if what was happening wasn't horrible enough...some of the coven weren't interested in rape. They satisfied themselves with burning her, using the hot-dog sticks as crude branding irons, marking her skin with sizzling pictures of flames and odd symbols, urging her to scream louder, longer, _higher_.

She caught glimpses of Torvald occasionally-standing to one side with his face contorted with something like grief. Their eyes met once, and he turned away in shame.

Carol was past screaming, her throat raw and bleeding, her lips cracked. Bruises covered her arms, her legs, even her torso, and where there were no bruises there were plenty of burns. Coppery knives appeared and carved runes into her already ruined flesh, but she couldn't scream any longer.

Bjarni was on top of her now, and Lilijana was at her head. They looked almost apologetic, for a moment, until Bjarni's eyes closed and he began panting. Carol's eyes met her roommate's.

"_Judas_," she whispered. Lilijana's eyes became stony, and she turned away without speaking, reaching instead for another iron. Bjarni finished, but Carol was past feeling anything. She had gone numb.

The high priest stepped up, passing his short sword over her twice, pausing only to dip it into the blood that now ran freely from Carol's body. He put the red blade onto the grill and stepped to the end of the altar, where Carol's bloodied legs now hung limp. Something tangled in his shoes, and he kicked it away, towards the fire, irritated. Carol's clothing had already gone up in smoke and ash.

The old man took his turn. Carol barely felt it. She thought herself too weak to feel, to scream beyond caring. She was wrong. When he had climbed down, the coven pulled her to the end of the alter, pulling her limp legs up and apart, even as the high priest brought the flaming end of his phallic staff towards her opening.

Carol screamed again.

"Surtr has had you," the old man hissed, twisting the burning phallus even as he impaled her with it. "Prepare to meet your lord...your lord Surtr...may he be pleased..."

The old man picked up the short sword, which now glowed red from the fire. A spark fell off of it and onto a flower, which burst into flame.

The Frigga grass.

"**Surtr is pleased with the lamb**," the old man intoned, walking towards Carol's head. "**Blessed is Surtr the Eternal**!"

"Blessed is Surtr the Eternal," the group murmured, exhaustedly straightening their bloody robes.

The high priest lay the glowing sword across Carol's abdomen. Just before it touched her-branded her-she saw the raised pattern of flames that raced down the blade.

The priest raised the sword over his head, and Carol screamed one last time, tilting her head to the sky.

The ground shook, suddenly, and a hot wind came out of nowhere. Sparks from the fire swirled around the coven: igniting the forest, the weeds, and some of the coven members' robes. A queer dance ensued as they slapped and hopped, trying to put out the scorching embers.

**"STAND,"** the old man commanded, **"SURTR BLESSES US WITH HIS PRESENCE!"**

A huge figure, shining like the sun, shook the forest with his approach. His muscled form seemed sculpted out of white-hot metal, and the light pouring from his limbs, his face, his eyes, threw the forest behind them into sharp relief. Curls the color of starlight hung around his shoulder and onto his cloak, which caught the light from his muscled body and reflected it into the stunned eyes of the Coven that cowered before him.

"**SURTR, OUR LORD**!" The old man gasped with joy. "**For you is the sacrifice!"** He swung the glowing sword down at Carol's bloody, exposed throat. Her eyes were already closed.

A huge, white-hot hand caught the sword by the blade, and ripped it from the old priests' hands. No harm came to the giant as he snapped the blade in two, though the forest ignited where the pieces landed.

**_"URIKTIG, ELDGAMMEL SVIN! BORT MED DEG,"_** the giant roared, his huge hands slapping coven members to the right and left. He kicked two away from him that tried to grovel at his feet, and slapped aside the brave one or two that attacked him with branding irons. The irons he bent with his bare hands, no harm coming to his skin, and he grabbed the assailants by their throats, knocking their heads together before tossing them over his shoulder, to land 20 feet away. "**_BORT MED DEG_**," he roared at them again, approaching the altar.

Hallbjorn jumped in front of the giant, raising his hands in supplication. "Master! I beg your blessing! I, who was the first to defile..." a huge hand closed around his throat, choking off the rest of his manic rant.

**_"SKAMMELIG SVIN!"_** the giant roared, and then threw Hallbjorn 100 feet through the air. The boy landed in front of his car and went limp.

Blazing eyes focused on the high priest, and the red silk robe began to smoke. The old man began to howl in pain, beating and tearing at his robe in desperation.

The incandescent giant looked down at the pitiful form on the altar. Her life-force was ebbing, pouring out of her along with her blood. He ripped off his own robe, blinding anything that looked directly at him, and gently wrapped it around her limp form. Cradling her like a child, he took five thunderous steps away from the altar. The coven members fled from him in terror as he raised his eyes to the sky.

**_"HEIMDALL!"_** he bellowed **_"Åpne porten!"_**

A fiery tornado sweep through the forest, and the giant disappeared, taking Carol with him.

TBC


	4. The House of Eir

Baldr landed heavily on the Bifrost tarmac, crouching onto one knee in his leather breeches, his body absorbing the shock of the landing that might have finished the frail bundle in his arms.

"Does she live?" Heimdall asked, his face stricken.

"Barely," Baldr answered, adjusting the load in his arms.

"They wait for you at the House of Eir," Heimdall informed him, waving him on and turning his eyes back to the sky.

Baldr took off like a streak of lightening, and to the casual observer that is all that could be seen. As the god of light he could move like light when he needed to; Baldr rarely needed to ride anywhere.

The hot wind that was Baldr tore through the Aesir streets, up the shining hill that held the Valholl, and stopped at the gate to the Healing Halls: the House of Eir, goddess of healing. The Fount of Cleansing sparkled in the courtyard, but he ignored it. He shouldered his way into the sterile house and gently lay the shattered form onto an examining table, then stepped back as Eir and his lady-mother, Queen Frigga, took over care of the dying girl. The Queen spared him a glance.

"Wash, my son, and come back to help us."

He nodded and left the room, walking outside to the Fount and stepping into its center.

"I need to be cleansed for surgery," he petitioned the Waters, and braced himself for the cleansing jets. They wouldn't hurt him, of course, but the Fount ran both steam and ice water, as needed, and the shock was a bit much.

A moment later the water at his feet pooled red, then pink, and then finally receded, pure. He was clean. He spared a momentary burst of light to dry off his breeches before stepping back into the House of Eir and accepting a Healer's tunic.

Eir and Frigga were equally swift. The filth had been removed from the girl's body, and his bloody cloak was nowhere to be seen. The dirt, however, had masked most of her more gruesome injuries, and these were now thrown into sharp relief. Cuts and burns, some down into the fat, glowed red against her dark skin. One shoulder hung at an odd angle, and there were dark bruises already forming where a cut or a burn did not let it bleed out. Raw patches of skin showed on her scalp where her hair had been torn out by the roots, and in some places it looked like it had been burned off. Baldr couldn't bring himself to look at her abused nether regions. His mother and Lady Eir seemed intent on stopping the girl from bleeding out; he wondered just how much blood she had left to give.

"What can I do?" he rumbled.

Lady Eir handed him a vial. "You remember how to scry for blood markers?" He nodded. "She will need a donor," the goddess clipped, "and soon. Break down her genetic code and see if aught in Asgard comes close enough to her type. As her blood leaves, so does her life."

Baldr took the vial and left the critical care room. Pulling down a silver bowl, he filled it with pure water and added the necessary solutions for medical scrying, then poured in the girl's blood and stirred.

The water ran pink for a moment, and a mist began to form above the bowl. Baldr placed one hand beneath the bowl and incandesced, just a little. Soon a double helix appeared in the mist above the bowl, lit up by the light from his hand.

"Scan for Aesir tags," he told the program, "and for similar Midgardian genetic counterparts."

The double helix began to twist before his eyes, then unzipped. Several of the molecules along one strand began to glow, taking on a golden sheen. Runes appeared vertically beside the softly glowing strand:

FATHER'S LINE: FOUR GENERATIONS PRIOR TO SUBJECT: CONFIRMED

It was a lucky break.

"Identify donor," he snapped.

The helix spun again, but came to an abrupt stop.

UNABLE TO COMPLY appeared in the mist. DONOR SAMPLE NOT INDICITIVE OF SPECIFIC AESIR ANCESTOR.

_Damn_. They had needed a break. No, _she_ had needed a break. A transfusion from the wrong Aesir could very well kill the girl, given her weakened state. A thought struck him: Heimdall. The man could see down to the microscopic as well as across universes. It was a chance...Baldr closed his eyes.

"Heimdall," he petitioned, "lend me your eyes. Help us help this child, before she bleeds to death."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

There seemed to be a thousand little cuts, all of them leaking blood, even though Frigga and Eir worked like lightening to close them, desperate to staunch the flow. They thanked the Nine that none of the wounds had struck an artery; if even one had, the nameless girl would already be dead.

She groaned under their hands, softly, almost inaudibly, but Frigga caught the sound. She passed a hand over the young woman's face.

"_Søvn_," she murmured, and the girl mercifully dropped into unknowing sleep.

"She will need to spend time in the womb," Frigga announced, and Eir nodded.

"She needs the transfusion first, and some delicate surgery, my queen. There is evidence of great trauma to her womanhood," the healer announced.

"Has Baldr..." the queen began, only to have her son step into the surgery.

"Yes. Heimdall and I found a donor," he announced, four units of blood floating in stasis above his hands. Eir took them, and began administering the life-giving fluid to the unconscious girl.

It was a shock to her system: the girl suddenly inhaled deeply, and her back arched as if in pain. Her heartbeat, however, became stronger, and her color improved dramatically with the extra oxygen being delivered. The clotting factor of the Aesir life-blood helped close many of her shallow cuts, while the still-weeping veins seemed to mend before their eyes. Queen Frigga and Lady Eir breathed a collected sigh of relief.

"We need to do the surgery now," the Queen urged, turning to their tools. She spared a glance at her son. "It is probably best if you do not watch."

He nodded. "Can I do aught else, mother?"

She motioned to the runes and symbols that nearly covered the girl's body. "Catalogue these. We need to investigate the matter when she is stable."

Baldr nodded and turned to another scrying bowl, calling up a mist that would let him create a stable hologram of the girl's body, and began creating the image needed.

Eir hissed at the other end of the room, where she had been investigating the damage to the girl's ruined pelvic region.

"What is it, Lady Eir?" Frigga murmured.

"She is burnt," came the blunt reply.

"In many places, dear one, what do you..." the Queen's eyes opened with horror when she realized the import of the Healer's words.

"_Inside_...she is _burnt_...there is so much _damage_..." Eir's voice faltered and she looked with near-panic at her Queen. "I do not know if I can _fix_ this...we need Thor...fertility is his patronage..."

"Thor's hands are too large for such a small subject," Baldr said, a comforting hand going to Eir's shoulder. "And he is not in Asgard. Have faith in your skill, Eir. Have faith in _yourself_. You can do this."

Eir nodded, and turned back to the unconscious girl on the table before her. "Thank you, Baldr," she murmured.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Surgery took hours, and when they were finished, both the Queen and Lady Eir were exhausted. The battered girl's unconscious form was first shaved, then gently lay in a magical stasis chamber, called a 'womb' because of its similarity to the cradle of life. Its constant, healing fluids would tend to her injuries better than repeated applications of salve, and the magical coma fixed on the patient (by none other than Queen Frigga) would keep the subject from moving or panicking in the enclosed space.

At least that was the idea.

Dreams shook the girl, and she often thrashed, shaking the chamber. No sound came from her battered lips, not even through the helm that allowed her precious oxygen. There was damage to her throat as well as her face and mouth.

Baldr rarely left the surgery. Lady Eir had other patients, after all, and the girl needed constant monitoring. Lady Eir quickly tired, and he _was_ a warrior of Asgard. He could do battle for days without sleep or sustenance, if need be. And what was healing if not the other side of battle?

Lady Eir came to him on the third day, as he sat in the observation chamber. He was trying to make sense of the marks the coven had left on the girl, and failing. While it was obviously some sort of sacrificial ritual he had interrupted, it didn't match any known Midgardian pattern. _Perhaps_, he thought darkly, _Midgardians have come up with a new way to torture others in the name of religion_. He didn't know.

A soft footfall roused Baldr from his thoughts. "Has she tried to wake?"

He shook his head. "She dreams still. Mother's spell will hold until it is removed. Probably best, I deem. She needs all the time in the 'womb' that we can give her." He spared a glance at the images displayed on the scrying trough: brain activity, heart rate, oxygen saturation, bacterial levels. "We should add some joint compound to the mix, to help her dislocations." There had been many of those, where the coven had twisted her limbs into submission until ligaments tore.

"I did that this morning," Eir whispered, and her voice caught. Baldr put a hand to the healer's back, comforting her. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, and her shoulders started to shake.

"Lady Eir?"

"How can people do this?" she whispered. "Even for a race as barbaric as Midgardians, this is beyond cruel. If they were of Svartalfheimr, or Muspelheimr, it might make sense, but Midgard?" Tears started to flow freely. "I am accustomed to the normal hurts of life, Baldr, and I have patched up many a warrior's battle injuries, but this," she motioned to the comatose girl, "there is no logic to explain this, no reason for it. It just," words failed her, and she started to sob.

Baldr stood and pulled her into a gentle embrace. Picking up a handkerchief, he wiped the healer's tears and _shhhh'ed_ her.

"Lady Eir," her rumbled, "you are a healer, and the most compassionate person I know, aside from my mother. But do not show grief in the girl's presence. If you must weep to heal yourself, then take an hour in the Garden of Solace. I will be here when you get back. In her presence," he motioned to their patient, "you must be strong. She will sense it, and draw from you what she needs."

Lady Eir nodded at the wisdom of his words. "Thank you, you are right. I shall take that hour." A thought struck her. "You mean to leave my House today? I have been grateful for your help, my Lord."

Baldr nodded. "Thor and Loki are back from the mission the All-Father sent them on. I mean to consult with Loki about these symbols," he motioned to the images he had taken of the girl's wounds. "There is a puzzle here that needs his divining: some foul magic at work that I do not understand. You may well wish to call on Thor as well, with your concerns for her fertility."

Eir nodded and dropped her knee in a curtsey to her prince. "Thank you, my lord," she murmured.

"There is no need for such formality, Lady Eir," Baldr said gently. "There are many Princes of Asgard."

_But none like you_, Lady Eir thought to herself, making  
her way to the Garden of Solace.

TBC


	5. Midgard: One week later

_Ireland _

Jamiann woke with a start.

The dream was back. Again.

It made her shiver.

_She and Carol were walking in the woods in the twilight: laughing, talking, idling. It was as if the last two years had disappeared, and Carol was back from Iceland, and they were catching up on all the things they had missed about each other: boys, movies, and who was wearing what ridiculous thing to Mass._

_There were whispers in the forest. Dark things Jamiann couldn't quite see, flitting about. She was afraid. Carol took her hand, just for a moment, and gave it a squeeze. There was a yellow flower in her grasp when she pulled away. _

_They came to a fork in the road. One branch led deep into the darkening forest, and the other led towards sunlit, familiar lands. Two signs._

_"Via Dolorosa" pointed towards the darkness. Jamiann smelled woodsmoke and sulfur._

_"Home" pointed towards the familiar path. _

_"I have to go now," Carol said, stepping onto the dark path. "Tell Mum and Da that I love them."Jamiann saw glowing eyes and a leer full of teeth waiting in the forest._

_Jamiann tried to scream, but couldn't. "Don't go," she croaked, reaching for her friend."Don't go."_

_"I have to go now," Carol shook her head sadly. "I have to take this," she pointed to the 'Via Dolorosa' sign. "I'll see you after," she promised, and stepped deep into the woods._

_Maniacal laughter and a hot wind tore through Jamiann's being. Carol was screaming..._

_"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Jamiann cried out after her friend._

_She tried to follow, but was knocked aside by a large hand. Her feet slipped on the path, and her body followed, sliding down the hillside to land..._

Safe in her own bed.

Every night for a week now, this dream had come. The first night, Jami had shrugged it off as nerves. Carol was a smart girl: a cop's daughter. She could take care of herself, surely. She was strong.

But she never called. Never answered her text. Never emailed her back.

So Jamiann worried.

And the dream kept coming back.

She finally called Carol's dormitory on the seventh night after her email. She didn't get Carol; her roommate answered the phone.

"Is Carol there?" Jamiann asked, feeling silly. "This is Jamiann, her friend in Ireland," she explained.

"No, I'm sorry," Lilijana answered. "She's at the library. She has some big project due for her Religion and Spirituality class. It's been keeping her pretty busy. _Well_," she said conspiratorially, "that and _Torvald_ have been keeping her busy. They've been all over each other since they took some trip a week ago, if you understand what I _mean_."

"Nay," Jamiann breathed, sounding scandalized. "Be that the boy she were avoidin' all this past year?"

"That's the one," said the voice from far away. "Apparently a few walks in the spring shadow of a volcano made her change her mind. I swear I saw a hickie! I just hope she doesn't let him ruin the end of the term!"

"Me too! Tanks for the update; you're a lamb, Lilijana, truly. Have Carol call me if she doesna' get in too late, will you?"

"I'll do that."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Iceland_

Lilijana hung up the phone, swearing softly, then picked it up again and dialed Svana.

"We have a problem," she said bluntly. "Meet me at Odin's Table in an hour. Bring Hallbjorn if he can walk, but not Torvald," she added, almost as an afterthought. "Definitely not Torvald. I'll get Bjarni," she said before hanging up.

They were going to have to take steps...

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 

Svana hung up the phone, unable to say much beyond 'hello' before Lilijana had started speaking, and not allowed to say much before the girl had cut off the call. Lilijana had been as pushy as Hallbjorn ever since her consecration ceremony, though Svana had more seniority in the Coven than she.

Svana was tired. She didn't remember ever being this exhausted after a simple ceremony. But then, it hadn't turned out to be so simple a ceremony. They had underestimated both the strength of Carol's will and the rest of the Coven's propensity for violence. Sleep had eluded her for most of the week, and when she _did_ nod off, her dreams were haunted by Carol's screaming, the sight of her body thrashing on the altar, and the scent of wood smoke. Dark circles had appeared under Svana's eyes, and her hair, normally a bounce of sunshine, hung limply around her face.

It had been rough to watch.

It brought back too many memories.

Svana closed her eyes and choked for a moment, remembering her own consecration...

"Who was it, Svana?" Hallbjorn always seemed to know when she needed solitude. He was certain to interrupt it.

"Lilijana," she answered, wiping hastily at her eyes. It wouldn't do for Hallbjorn to see her tearing up. "She says there's a problem, and we need to meet her at Odin's Table in an hour. Are you up to it?"

"Yes," he answered, stretching until something popped in his back. "I'm pretty much healed up. Being only part human has its advantages, you know. Having first crack at the sacrifice helps as well: better energy flow," he explained. He eyed her suspiciously. "You've been quiet all week, and you look like hell. Should I set up a _mökun_ ceremony for this weekend? You've always enjoyed those, and you look like you could use the energy," he said sharply.

Mökun...the Icelandic term for mating. Of course Hallbjorn thought sex was the cure-all for everything. _Why do I put up with this?_ Svana asked herself._ Oh, right, because if I try to leave now I'm a dead woman,_ she thought quietly.

"No, that won't be necessary, Hall," she said quietly. "Last weekend was just...rough. I wasn't expecting it to get so violent. It never has before," she explained, "and then with that_ thing_ showing up, well, I've been having nightmares," she finally admitted.

Hall nodded, frowning. "I've been having dreams about that giant, too. That's what it was, I'm sure: a giant. Somehow we did something different in the ceremony, and tapped into another dimension. I just don't know which one. The high priest will figure it out, though, given time."

"He's plenty sore about the loss of his sword. He's had that thing for over a century."

"Couldn't be helped. Besides, my uncle will have it re-forged in time for Mid-Summer's Night," he said confidently, pulling on a pair of jeans. "And you really need to buck up. If I know the High Priest, and I do, the stage for Mid-Summer's Night was set last week at the Altar Consecration. This year's sacrifice will be _special_, if you know what I mean."

Svana sighed. She knew all too well.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Odin's Table_

Hallbjorn, Svana, Lilijana, and Bjarni huddled around cappuccinos, looking for all the world like a group of regular college students.

"We have a problem," Lilijana said, after checking to see nobody else could hear her. "Carol's friend Jamiann called from Ireland a little bit ago, and she sounds concerned. If she doesn't start hearing from 'Carol' soon, she could start breathing down our necks and making trouble."

"She's across the bloody North Atlantic!" Bjarni snorted, "What can she do to us?"

"If she gets too suspicious, she can make the right people ask all the wrong kind of questions," Lilijana snapped. "Carol's father is a police officer."

"That would have been good to know _before_ the ceremony, Lilijana," Hallbjorn said coldly. "You're right: we have a problem. Police officers tend to pay attention when _other_ police officers start asking questions."

"Plus, isn't this Jamiann also Carol's Wiccan friend?" Svana asked.

"Like that matters," Hallbjorn snorted. "Whatever spirit she can conjure is no match for Surtr and Company."

"Who is to say the giant that interrupted our Consecration didn't come by her petition, Hallbjorn? Did you ever stop to think of that?" Svana's temper was starting to flare. "This Jamiann tried to warn Carol off. Who is to say that she didn't sic something on us from another dimension? We didn't lay down any wards, after all. We weren't expecting Carol to fight, much less any outside interruptions."

"She's only _human_..." Hallbjorn started to snort.

"Do you know that for sure?" Svana asked coldly. "You were too, once upon a time."

Lilijana and Bjarni glanced from face to face, suddenly confused. "Um, guys," Bjarni said tentatively, "what are you talking about?"

Hallbjorn sighed and rubbed his temples as if pained. Considering the state his joints were still in, quite a lot still hurt...

"Your journey to immortality has just begun," he explained. "With each successive ceremony, especially the Mökun, there is a transfer of energy and DNA. _That_ builds up over time, rendering you immortal. Svana and I have been doing this for a while now. We're now only technically half human, although we have enough magic to cloak our real identities so we can pass in the crowd."

"What do you mean by 'a while now'?" Bjarni asked curiously. "You look the same age as me!"

Hallbjorn told him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Ireland..._

Chief Detective James Dahl scowled at the Yankee prat that sat across the table. The _caffler_ actually thought his American citizenship made him immune from prosecution! He listened for a while, bored at the adolescent posturing and legalese whining, before slamming his hand down on the desk.

"Boi," he growled, "let me make this clear to you. Ye may well be a Yankee, but ye aren't in America as we speak. What ye _are_ in is a whole lot o' trouble. Ye'll help yerself more by not lyin' to me face!"

The brash young man faltered for a moment, and then quickly resumed his oily smile.

"But you can't _prove_ I'm lying, now can you, Detective? All of my papers are in order. You've searched my luggage repeatedly, and I've had the most fun being searched by your staff. Ye've found _nuthin_'," the boy finished in a mock Irish accent, "so unless _ye_ want to start an _international inceedent_, _ye'll_ do the _smaht_ thing _an let me go_," he sneered.

Detective Dahl tossed a bag full of hard white powder onto the table. It was followed by an equally large bag of something like rock salt. The boy's smart-alec face froze, and his eyes bugged out.

"Next time ye buy luggage, boi, better make it a Samsonite," Detective Dahl said coldly. "I've got ye for importin' both cocaine and methamphetamine. Now, it got _interestin_'," he turned one of the packages over and pointed to a note taped to one of the packages, "when I got a look at this here."

The boy turned a delicate shade of pale green as the detective read the letter out loud.

"Dear Son. Have a great trip. Be a good boy and bring your old man a bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold Label. It should fit nicely in this pocket, and you won't have to worry about the import taxes. Bring something nice for your mother as well; I think she would like..."

"Alright," the boy deflated, "you've made your point."

"I doubt that very much, lad," the detective said coldly. "I've caught you in a lie, and no mistake. You're smugglin' drugs into-and _through_-the Republic o' Ireland. They be yours to begin with, alright, and I've already spoken to your American authorities about your parent's part o' this little game. They're in jail now, lad."

"But...but...but...I'm not visiting anywhere else...I was going to visit the distillery here in Ireland..." the boy began to sputter.

Detective Dahl cocked an eyebrow. The lad was stupid as well as crooked! "Boi, ye canna pick up Johnnie Walker Gold at any distillery here in _Ireland_. Ye have to go to _Scotland_ for that," he said dryly. "Which means ye'll be leavin' the country for your business."

"Scotland, Ireland...what's the difference?" the caffler was _genuinely_ stupid.

"Saints preserve me, the lad's a **_moron_**," said Dahl, leaning back in his chair and wiping his face with his hands with a groan. He glared back at the shrinking boy. "Try the Irish Sea, for starters, you Yankee Idiot!"

The boy was starting to blubber as he was led to his holding cell. Smirking, the Captain walked into Interrogation with a closed stopwatch.

"Under 15 minutes this time, Jimmy! Looks like I'm buying you another Guinness tonight! What's your secret, anyway? The rascal had three other investigators stymied!"

Dahl hated being called 'Jimmy', as he wasn't 6 years old anymore. However, he _did_ like making the Captain open up his wallet. He grinned good-naturedly.

"T'wasn't any big thing, Cap'n. The truth jest wasn't in that boi. He had this big ol' tell right in the middle o' his face!"

"Jimmy, I'm glad you're on our side," the captain said with a good-natured slap across the shoulders. "I'll see you at the pub after hours."

"Aye, sir."


	6. Patronage

A/N: I've always hated Thor's character being portrayed as an unthinking brute. Yes, he's a great warrior and all, but according to myth his patronage went far beyond smiting evil things. He was a healer as well as a warrior. I see some of the friction between Thor and Loki as a conflict between two houses of science: biology and physics. Now on with the show.

_The Royal Library of Asgard..._

Loki chewed thoughtfully on a morsel of fruit while he poured over the ancient tome. He had dined, of course, upon returning home from the Western Mountains, but what was a good book without a snack? Digestion always helped him think, and there was a puzzle here in the scroll that demanded his attention. He had to translate it as he went...for part of it was in the jagged script of Jotunheimr...something about the Manipulation of Lyving Yce with Fyre...

It was fascinating...if he understood it correctly, both Jotunheimr and Muspelheimr had once been _connected_, and the interaction of the two realms had been a violent act of creation...

_Fascinating_. Apparently the mutual rotation of the two realms brought them within a close proximity every couple of millennia, and when that happened, a new realm was created out of the chaos.

Dimly, Loki wondered what happened to the inhabitants of the realms of Fyre and Yce while their planetoids did their little 'dance'. It didn't sound like something anybody would want to witness from close up.

He leaned back and stared blankly at the ceiling. The whole puzzle reminded him...albeit vaguely...of the stories of matter/antimatter interaction. In large quantities it produced quasars, which were fun to play with (and made that tic over Odin's brow more pronounced). In small amounts it produced energy for things like the Bifrost Gate and _really_ complicated pieces of magic.

It was worth investigating. _If the next planetoid by-pass could be managed by a being with enough power, _he mused,_ theoretically a realm could be shaped to the being's will_.

But how much power would he need? Now _that_ was a puzzle worth divining!

Someone behind him cleared his throat, and Loki's eyes snapped up, irritated. Why in the name of the Nine Realms did he always have to get interrupted like this? If it was Thor wanting him to go outside for a workout, he swore internally, then he was going to have to burn the hair off of his gonads, just as a warning.

But it was Baldr, and from the look on his younger brother's face, something was gravely wrong. He rolled up his scroll with care.

"What is it?"

Baldr looked uncomfortable. "Pardon the interruption, brother. I know you just got home and want to relax, but..."

"What are you, a courtesan? Spit it out, Glowstick!"

Glowstick: Loki's old nickname for him since they were children sneaking through the palace depths. Baldr would have smiled if his errand was less grim.

"I need your help," he said bluntly. "I have a number of symbols here that do not make sense, neither in their patterns nor in their applications."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Show me, then!"

Baldr set down the portable scrying bowl and activated it, then called up the patterns etched into Eir's patient's skin.

Loki scowled. "Hmmm. A lot of these look like variations on the Seal of the Royal House of Muspelheimr, especially this large one here, but some of them are different. This resembles the symbol for 'portal', this one for 'energy', this one for 'life', and this one for 'eternity'. It _looks_ like," he paused, thinking, "a very young child rendered the symbols for Muspelheimr and one or two of the other realms, but got them mixed up in the process. Where did you find this?"

"Burned into a Midgardian girl's flesh," Baldr said gravely.

Loki's head snapped around. **_"What?"_** he hissed.

Baldr nodded. "I interrupted some sort of sacrificial ritual four days ago. These symbols," he motioned to the collection floating in front of them both, "were burned into the victim's flesh. I arrived in time to prevent her decapitation and evacuate her to the House of Eir."

Loki's eyes burned. "Show me how they lay on her body," he said coldly.

Baldr adjusted the imagery, and Loki's scowl deepened. He sucked in his breath. "Any sign of violation?"

"Beyond barbaric. Multiple offenders and at least one firebrand."

"Damn." Loki paused for a moment. "Does she still _live_?"

"Yes. Mother and Lady Eir worked for hours. She has been in the 'womb' for four days now."

"I want to see her," Loki insisted grimly.

/

_Thor's Clinic_

"Now see here, Wilherd, a woman is not a cow!" Thor was getting impatient with the farmer in front of him. "You cannot just _breed_ her and expect her to go about her business as usual! The added burden of childbearing wears on her body in ways you obviously do not comprehend."

"But she is _built_ for this," the dim-wit protested. "Men beget, and women bear! That's their function in life! Her chores haven't changed, she's just malingering!"

"Lad," Thor growled, "I have seen many campaigns, and sometimes even I need an armor bearer. Your lady-wife needs more support from you now, because she is carrying _your_ child. Her body changes to support the bairn, and right now that is her body's only priority. Bear the babe. Drawing water from the well, slinging about manure in the barn, washing your clothing, cooking your meals and cleaning up after _you_ is all secondary. Her body is taxed beyond reason..."

"She's just being lazy!"

"I examined her myself," Thor said coldly. "Do you want to cast aspersions on my patronage?" The man squirmed uncomfortably. "Your lady-wife's energy levels are _shockingly_ low. She shows signs of anemia and malnutrition as well as exhaustion. I am mindful of the last time she came through my House: she nearly died bearing your son. At this rate, if nothing changes, you will lose both your lady-wife and your unborn daughter."

The farmer sniffed, maddeningly. "If it's just a _girl_..."

Thor's fist hit the table...**_hard_**.

"Lady Sif is **_just a girl_**...Lady Eir is **_just a girl_**...the Queen is **_just a girl_**..." he snarled. The oaf was a moron! "If you cannot see that a woman is worth just as much as a man, then you do not deserve to have one!"

The farmer stiffened. Surely the Prince wouldn't strip him of his wife...would he?

"It seems you do not appreciate all that your lady-wife does for you," the Prince said coldly. "Perhaps a few months of doing her chores as well as your own will change your tune. I am committing Lady Ynde to the House of Eir for the duration of her pregnancy. You," he stabbed a meaty finger at the sniveling farmer in front of him, "are going to spend less time at the local ale-house, and more time at home! And I expect the place to be kept clean and in order for when she returns!"

"But...but...cooking and cleaning is _women's work_," the man mewled. "I have animals to tend, and crops to see to, and..."

"And you really do not have a clue how to keep a house, do you?" Thor sat back, stroking his beard. "How did you ever survive to manhood?"

"My mother kept the house and..."

"And died before her time of exhaustion. I remember her," Thor said coldly, "she was a great lady who managed to raise a maggot of a son. She never got to see her grandchildren or bounce them on her knee, as was her right. Your father worked her to **_death_**, and you are following in his **_footsteps_**." Thor glared harshly at the young man, who withered at the wrath of the God of Thunder. "I'll not stand idly by and let you deprive Asgard of another fine woman. There be nothing unmanly about cooking and cleaning or hostelling your livestock. I have done all these since my youth. Do you think **_me_** less than a man?" The farmer paled and shook his head. "**So, warriors do all these things on the battlefield, but a mere farmer gets to sit by and take his ease, while his wife waits on him like a slave?"** Thunder rolled outside.

"No," the man squeaked.

"What was that?" Thor scowled down at the farmer.

"No, my Lord!" the man said, a little louder.

"That's better," Thor nodded. "I will be sending people by to check on your progress at home. You may visit your wife once a week. Your son, I believe, is old enough now to make the journey by himself. He may come at any time. Oh, and if you have any questions about tending hearth and home..."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Don't be afraid to ask a woman."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"You are dismissed."

The man swallowed and fled.

Thor groaned and sat back in his chair, then reached for his tankard of cider. Idiots like this man seemed to abound in Asgard. When had the populace become so ignorant?

He pulled on his cider, and then made the necessary notations in the Scroll of Records. Lady Ynde of the Central Plains would be a guest at the House of Eir for several months. Fortunately, with some of Lady Eir's and his mother's tutelage, she would emerge a stronger woman for it.

A light knock interrupted his musing, and when he looked up he saw the tired face of Lady Eir. She had been very busy these past few days-he had heard something about a trauma patient-and so he had not seen much of her.

"Come in, Lady Eir. I fear I have added to your burden, with the admission of the oaf's wife..."

Lady Eir waved a hand. "She is most welcome, my lord. Worry not. We shall have quite a time of it, preparing for the bairn's arrival. 'Tis one of my more joyous duties, and your lady-mother's as well." A shadow crossed her face. "I came to see you about another patient of mine."

"The Midgardian girl? Yes, I heard about Baldr's rescue. How is she?"

Lady Eir frowned. "Not well, I deem. Your mother and I stopped her blood-shock, and we have knit back together what we could, but her healing is slow, and I worry for her ability to bear in the future."

Thor frowned. "Midgardians are fragile creatures at best. They also do not heal at Aesir rates." He sat back in his chair, musing. "Is there any sign of infection? Internal injury, perhaps, that could have been missed in the initial surgery?"

"None that I can divine, my lord."

Thor snorted. "Lady Eir, you haven't called me 'my lord' since you pulled that fishing gaff out of my ass."

She pinked up a little at that. "It was a most undignified injury, my Prince," she smiled a little, "but I was glad to save the royal _symmetry_," she said with a giggle.

"And I was glad to have it saved," he said, rising and giving the Healer a good-natured slap on the backside. "Let's go see this patient of yours."

/

Thor was still scowling at the test results when Baldr arrived with Loki. A massive finger jabbed at one collection of energy readings as he did so.

"Your skill with the surgery is legendary, as usual, Lady Eir, but I see your concern," he mused. "Nice touch on the adhesion barriers, by the way. She won't need additional surgery to promote normal function. What were these?" He pointed to a collection of long dark specks on the diagram. "I see you removed them, whatever they were, from the pelvic floor."

"Wood splinters," she coughed, paling at the memory.

"Bastards," he growled. "Please tell me Baldr killed those responsible."

"Unfortunately no," Baldr replied from behind him. "I had to choose between saving or avenging her. Medical necessity came first." He caught the _look_ from Thor. "I am not _completely_ opposed to killing, as you recall," he folded massive arms across his chest, "but there is a time and a place for everything."

"Well said, little brother," Loki spoke up from behind the taller Odinson. He pushed past Baldr's bulk to stare at the image hanging in the mist, and frowned. "This is odd," he said, pointing to a read-out of the girl's brain activity. "Where is the quicksilver?" Baldr found the gray liquid and handed it to Loki, who began tinkering with the various scrying bowls.

"So, assuming she makes a full recovery, _physically_ she should resume normal biological function within a few weeks, at most," Thor was saying to Eir. "I see nothing amiss with your treatment, though it seems indeed odd that she does not respond with more haste to the healing balms of the 'womb'."

"You emphasized 'physically' for a reason," Lady Eir sighed.

"I did," Thor nodded. "_Physically_, she should recover. But the damage to her _mind_ may be beyond our-or her-ability to heal. The physical healing is moot if she cannot allow herself to ever take a lover. But she will live," he rumbled softly, caressing the Healer gently on her shoulder, "thanks to your skill."

"Wake her up," Loki interjected coldly. Lady Eir gasped at the suggestion.

"Are you _mad_? I would have to remove her from the 'womb' for that, and she still needs time..."

"I said **_WAKE HER UP_**," Loki growled. He stabbed a finger at the new images that appeared in the scrying mist. "You wish to know what keeps her from healing, yes? It is a simple thing of mind over matter. Her brain activity," he brushed aside a few unneeded images, "indicates that she dreams, _and has been dreaming_, since she was placed in stasis. You gave her an infusion of Aesir blood, correct?" Lady Eir nodded. "Any idea who the donor was?"

Lady Eir shook her head, and Baldr spoke up. "Heimdall found the donor. Haste was needed; he did not say who the donor was."

Loki growled in frustration. "Then we have no idea whose magic is coming into play. Look here," he indicated the girl's brain activity again, "and let me see if I can pull up an image of what she _sees_," he swirled a few more chemicals into the nearly-overloaded scrying bowls, and the technical data disappeared.

_Horns, flames, fangs, leering eyes, flames, blood, firebrands, flames, blades, flames..._

Lady Eir cried out in horror and turned away, burying her face in Baldr's shoulder.

"She isn't healing because she has been dreaming of her torture _for the past four days_," Loki insisted darkly. "The Aesir blood has strengthened her mind considerably, so now _imaginary_ hurts becomes _real_. You have to _wake her up_ for this to end!"

Lady Eir nodded, shaking. "I have to get her out of the 'womb' first," she said, turning to her tools, "and we need Her Majesty. It is your mother's spell that holds her. I can't counter her magic," she explained.

"There is no time. I will do it," Loki spat out. "Pull the girl out of stasis while I set the glamour in place," he commanded, brushing past a stunned Thor.

"What glamour, brother?"

"A Midgardian hospital, of course. The bird will heal fastest if it perceives the proper nest. What country was she taken from, Glowstick?" Loki reached for a few small bags from his belt.

"_Garðarshólmi, _we used to call it, but in the modern tongue..."

"_Ísland_, or Iceland," Loki nodded as he reached the receiving room, "one modern-day Icelandic hospital, coming up." His fingers gripped the doorframe as he reached inside himself for power. Personal glamours were easier to cast than an entire room, but the furnishings seemed to stir as his magic took hold. "A little fuzzy around the edges, I deem, but it should fool Midgardian eyes long enough. Where is the patient?"

"Here," said Thor softly, and Loki let him pass. He carried the child easily, floating her on a levitation table to the waiting bed.

"Half a moment," Loki said suddenly, gently stalling the Lady Eir, "allow me to fix your glamour. You need to look like a Midgardian, and not an Aesir," he explained. She nodded and he furrowed his brow in concentration. "Better," he nodded.

"Thor," she said, gently touching the larger god's elbow, "step out, please. And for the love of the Nine, all of you stay out of sight!" She cocked an eyebrow at the trio of Odin's sons. "The last thing this child needs to see is a _man_," she reminded them, pulling up an odd-looking chair to sit next to her patient. She took the girl's hands in her own, and then nodded at Loki, who disappeared.

Lady Eir took a breath.

Carol Dall opened her eyes.


	7. Silence

_Hornsfirepainclawsfirehandspain..._

Carol opened her eyes with a start, gasping and struggling to release herself from the hands she still felt in her dream. _Everything_ hurt, and the light was so bright...

Light?

The forest disappeared as she blinked, still gasping, and she found herself in bed in a sterile white room. A large blond woman in an old-fashioned nurse's outfit held her hand and tutted soothingly, while preventing her from rising.

"Ljúga enn. Þú ert öruggur. Shhhhhhh. Ljúga enn," the woman repeated. "Þú ert öruggur."

Carol had a working knowledge of Icelandic under normal circumstances, but now _wasn't_ one of them. The woman might as well be speaking gibberish. She grabbed one of the soothing hands out of reflex, panic rising in her eyes. _Everything hurt..._She tried to cry out...to call for help, but no sound would come from her throat..._Where was she?_

"Friður, _suss, suss_," the nurse put a gentle hand on her face-Carol had been looking around the room frantically-and pulled her eyes back so she faced her. The kindly face puckered apprehensively. "Gera þú skilja mig?"

Carol's breathing gradually slowed. The realization that she might be safe had begun to creep in...she glanced down at her arms...her body...she was swathed in bandages...

The nurse sighed. She used a finger to guide Carol's face back to her own again, then touched the bridge of her nose with a finger and drew it back to her own eyes. The sign was unmistakable: _look at me._

"Eir," the nurse said, then added slowly, pointing at herself, "Minn nafn er Eir. Gera þú skilja mig?"

_Islandr for Beginners_ clicked in Carol's head. _My name is Eir. Can you understand me?_ She tried to speak again, but her throat felt swollen inside and would not work. Carol settled for a quick nod and a non-committal wiggle of a bandaged hand, then pointed to her own throat and shook her head.

Nurse Eir nodded, seeming to understand. "Opnaðu munninn," she said softly, then when Carol gave her a confused look she pantomimed the required action. Carol complied by opening her jaw, and the nurse tutted as she looked down her throat.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Eir sat with her patient for nearly a half-hour before emerging from the glamoured room, and when she did, her face was grim. She called another one of her servants over and gave orders for certain elixirs to be prepared before approaching the trio of Odinsons in her drawing room.

"She is not Icelandic," she announced in the All-Tongue, much to the men's surprise. "I spoke in the _Islandr_ tongue, and she barely understood me. There will be no interview with this patient for some days, Prince Loki," she said firmly, giving him a steely gaze. "The maiden cannot speak."

"Did they cut..." began Baldr, but she interrupted him.

"No, the maid still has her tongue. The damage is to her vocal cords; they are swollen to the point of non-function. I can repair the damage to the soft tissue, but it will take some time. There is a lot to repair," Eir said helplessly.

"I will need to speak with her as soon as she is able," Loki said coolly. "Please let me know when she is ready. By your leave, Lady Eir," he said formally, giving her a slight bow. "Baldr, a word?" he murmured, jerking his head towards the door. Baldr nodded, took his leave of Lady Eir, and followed Loki out the door.

Thor looked at Eir with something akin to pity. "The maiden screamed herself hoarse," he said simply.

Eir nodded, her face clouding. "I have not seen such cruelty in several centuries," she whispered, "not even from Dökkálfar raiders. It would seem, from her injuries, that the people who did this were interested in inflicting as much pain as possible." She shuddered, and Thor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I have never wanted to take a life, Thor," she whispered. "It goes against my art. But seeing this..."

"We all fight in different ways, Lady Eir," Thor said simply. "Your job," he said firmly, grasping her by the shoulders, "is to make the weak strong again, to seek and save the lost, and to restore the broken. That is how you help defeat evil like this," he motioned to the girl's room with his head.

"But what about justice," she pleaded? "Who holds those who did this responsible for their actions?"

Thunder rolled distantly. "That...is _my _job," Thor rumbled. He glanced out the window for a moment. "You may want to consult with Lady Niorun. The maiden may need her help to sleep without night terrors."

Lady Eir nodded. The Goddess of Dreams would indeed be a welcome visitor in the House of Eir.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ /\/\/\

"You wanted to speak to me?" Baldr caught up to Loki easily, and the two conversed as they made their way back to the palace.

"Yes," Loki seemed troubled by something. "The girl, when you rescued her: how did the supplicants react to your presence?"

Baldr frowned. "They were...initially glad to see me. I think they mistook me for whatever deity they were worshipping at the time. I ordered them to disperse, and they started groveling. One even openly bragged how he had been the first to defile her, and asked for my blessing!"

"What did you do?"

Baldr shrugged. "I threw the cur over my shoulder."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Nice touch!" He paused a moment. "Did they address you at all?"

Baldr scowled and nodded. "They called me Surtr," he admitted, "several times. They obviously thought I was him."

"Hmmm. What were you wearing?"

Baldr shrugged again. "Not much. I was called in haste and had little time to dress. I just wore my breeches and a cape."

"Doubtless you were incandescent, given the circumstances."

"I was highly agitated, yes."

"Which explains why they thought you were Surtr," Loki mused darkly. "This could be bad. It sounds like Surtr has nurtured his own cult on Midgard, and they've worked their way up to human sacrifice. Father must be told," he said grimly. He cast a glance at his younger brother. The younger man was shorter than Thor by a head, but was equally well-built. "So, are you planning on running around town half-naked again anytime soon? Surely with the attention you get from the maidens would shame both Thor and Fandral. Maybe some of the rest of us could get lucky in your wake!"

Baldr grinned, embarrassed. "Shut up."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Later that same day...in the House of Eir..._

"So, how did this injury occur?" Lady Eir bent over the shattered arm of the child in front of her, lobbing questions at her father even as she poked and prodded. The child, for her part, only sniffled and moaned.

"She fell off of her horse," the man grunted. "Wasn't payin' no attention to what she was doin', _right_ Edelsten?" The last comment was directed to the child, whose eyes widened even as she sniffled. The child nodded.

Lady Eir frowned. "This is a bad break. I can set the bone, of course, but it will take a few weeks to heal." She straightened up and motioned to one of her assistants, who walked over.

"Image the bones for me," she murmured, "see if we have to do surgery, and get a full medical history," she added in an aside. The assistant nodded, then scooped up the child and took her to the rear portions of the House.

Turning back to the child's father, Eir straightened up. "I should speak to her mother. Aftercare for a break like this is important, lest the bones grow back crooked. When can I see her?"

The man scowled. "When you reach the afterlife, Milady Eir. My lady-wife died in childbed." He scowled in his daughter's wake. "_Her_ bed."

"You have my condolences," Lady Eir said soothingly. "Surely it is difficult to raise such a beautiful daughter without her mother's care. And from the sound of it, she tries hard to please you, doing boyish things e'en when she knows she is not one." She smiled a little. "She quite reminds me of Lady Sif at this age: precious and tough at the same time."

The man only scowled further. "Not so tough as you might think, Lady Eir. Some days..." He broke off his train of thought and looked down the hallway, where his daughter had disappeared. "I have no household staff knowledgeable enough to look after a child in her condition. I was about to leave on a journey when _this_ happened. Would it be possible to leave her in your care? I will be gone a fortnight," he added.

Lady Eir frowned. "A journey? Now?"

"I am a merchant, Lady Eir. If I am to recompense you for your services, I must tend to my business. Normally Edelsten would accompany me, but she cannot in this state."

The man's words made sense, but Lady Eir sensed something else was going on. She just could not divine _what_ it was. Still, little Edelsten had only six years, and would not be a burden to the House...

"I can take her in, yes. There will be some forms to fill out, of course, and I must have your written leave to tend her as I see fit in your absence..."

"Of course, Lady Eir."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Carol opened her eyes. She had napped after Nurse Eir had made her take several draughts of medicine, and thankfully, this time had had no dreams. She looked around her, curious. The room was the same, but something seemed...off. There wasn't anything wrong with it, per se, but still, it somehow appeared unreal. If it hadn't been for the lessening pain all over her body, she would have thought herself mad.

_Maybe I have gone mad_, she thought. _Maybe I'm dyin', and all this is just some sort o' illusion me own mind cooked up, whilst me spirit leaves me body._ The idea actually made sense. It made a lot more sense than being rescued by an incandescent angel and flying through the stars...

_Ok, so, I'm dead, or dyin',_ she thought, _but why am I seein' some sort o' hospital? Seems to me I should be seein' Gran or Granpa an' the family farm instead o' this place...all white walls an' odd-lookin' chairs and an IV bottle..._

The IV bottle...it hung tantalizingly nearby on a hook, with the usual tube running down and into her arm, the needle hidden under a swath of bandages. It would have looked totally normal _if IV bottles had not been in use since the 1970's._ Modern hospitals used plastic bags!

Carol frowned, then tried to sit up in her bed._ God_, it hurt, but she managed to get a bandaged hand around the IV tube, and started pulling the bottle closer...

Or she would have, if the tube hadn't gone completely through her fingers. She stared, thinking perhaps she had simply dropped the tube, and grasped at it again.

Nothing.

She waved a hand at the pole holding up the IV bottle.

And hit nothing. Her hand went completely _through_ the pole.

Dread filled her. Carol didn't mind dying; it would be a comfort, in fact. But madness in the face of death was inexcusable. She had _chosen_ the _Via Dolorosa_. Had her mind snapped in her weakness, her wish to escape the horrors inflicted by her 'friends'? She swung out in the opposite direction, and her bandaged hand thudded painfully on the nearby wall.

_The pain was real_, therefore, so was the wall.

She heard voices out in the hallway, murmurs of a child, and broken bones, and a journey..._in English_.

If these people spoke English, why had Nurse Eir addressed her in Icelandic? Where was she?

Waiting seemed to take forever, but eventually Nurse Eir made it back to Carol's room. She was carrying a tray of soft foods-something that looked like soup and cooked fruit, and a tankard of some cool, sweet-smelling concoction Carol knew she would be expected to sip. 'Nurse Eir' put the tray down and pulled the strange-looking chair over towards the head of the bed, but before she could say anything Carol made a writing sign with the finger of one hand on the palm of the other. 'Nurse Eir' nodded and rose, disappearing for a moment. When she returned she held a writing board and a...quill?

Carol frowned but accepted the tools. Clumsily, because her hands were still bandaged, she scrawled out:

_Where am I?_

'Nurse Eir' looked at the English script and nodded. The maid _was_ from another country, then.

"You are in the hospital in Reykjavik," she began, only to be greeted by a stony glare and some furious scribbling.

_We are not in Reykjavik. This is not a hospital. Where am I?_

Lady Eir's mouth dropped open for a second. "What makes you think so, dear one?" she asked cautiously.

_Reykjavik 's hospital uses modern technology. Glass bottles have not been used for 30+ years. Even if they were, they would be solid and not a hologram._

Carol punctuated her last point by waving a hand through the glamour IV pole and tube.

_We do not have this technology. I think I am not dead. Where am I?_

Lady Eir 'hmmmmed' for a moment and frowned. The deception had been deemed necessary by the royal family, and she did not have the power or authority to over-ride it. However, more lies would doubtless upset the patient. She decided on a compromise.

"There are some questions I am not allowed to answer. I can call the one with whom you must speak," she placated, seeing the girl's face contract. "Can you tell me your name?"

The girl nodded and wrote again.

_I am Carol Dahl._


	8. Conniving

_Professor Hinrik Töframaður's class on Comparative Theology_

Carol's paper, _The Significance of Pagan Sacrificial Rituals and their Similarities to Roman Catholic Rites_, was awarded high marks by Professor Hinrik Töframaður. He was so impressed with her logic that he read excerpts from it to the rest of the class.

"Now _this_," he emphasized, "is a fine example of observation, tolerance, and open-minded consideration. It is also an excellent display of active thinking and research. Too many of you were too quick to judge the visited faiths by your own experience and pre-conditioned bias, without giving any real thought or empathy to the adherents you had observed. Well done, Miss Carol!" He said warmly, addressing her in the Icelandic fashion, using only her first name. "Please come collect your paper," he added, scanning the crowded classroom for a face that should surely be blushing.

He didn't see her. "Miss Carol?" He inquired again. Nothing. "Carol Dahl?" He was greeted instead by a waving hand. "Yes, Miss Lilijana?" He asked cooly.

"Carol is sick today, Professor Hinrik," the young lady volunteered. "I think she has the flu, though I'm not certain. I'm her roommate," she explained.

"Ah. Please extend my sympathies to your roommate, and have her pick up her paper when she feels healthy. In the meantime, please see me after class so we can go over any assignments she may miss in the next few days."

"Of course, Professor Hinrik," Lilijana said, smiling pleasantly.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_ The High Priest's House_

Svana knocked nervously at the High Priest's door. His call had been insistent; he had to see her _tonight_. Why...he wouldn't say over the phone. She only hoped he would be in a good mood, considering what had happened at the Consecration...

The old man pulled the door open, smiling affably. "Svana," he said warmly, "it is always good to see you. Please do come in, and take off your wrap." He held out his hand for her coat, and she handed it to him, rubbing her hands together nervously as she did so. "Please, join us in the study," he said, gesturing with his open hand.

"Us?" she queried. "Who else is here?" Svana tolerated the light grasp of her elbow, though it wasn't necessary. She knew the High Priest valued touching his supplicants.

"Our youngest supplicant, Torvald," the old man explained, "has come to me with some troubling questions. I thought it best if we answered them together. I also thought a chat was in order with you, specifically, about the night of our last gathering."

Svana's heart sank. This could not be good.

Torvald rose from the high-backed chair in the High Priest's study as she entered, and she noticed that the old man stopped long enough to robe himself, though he did not put on his ceremonial mask. This, then, would be an official rite of some sort.

The High Priest spoke first.

"I understand that our recent Consecration ceremony went a tad _awry,_" he began, "and I know there have been a lot of upset people. I think the ceremony was hardest on you both, for different reasons. Torvald, since you seem fit to explode, why don't you go first?" The old man nodded to Torvald, who was indeed turning a delicate shade of red.

"Awry? **_AWRY_**? Is a violent rape and murder your definition of **_awry_**?" The boy was almost apoplectic. "I was going to join the coven that night: Carol wasn't! There was no need to torture her to death! If you had needed to, you could have done it to me!"

The old man waved his hand. "Nonsense. We most certainly did _not_ murder Carol Dahl. She was whisked away into another dimension entirely by the giant that interrupted us. For all we know, she is still alive, and there is absolutely no proof to suggest otherwise. No _corpse_ equals no _murder_."

"But the rape..."

"I suggest you open your mind a little, lad. Carol's virginity was tied to her old religion, which is perfectly useless, even as you have come to realize," the old man scolded. "And as I told Carol that night, not all who come to Surtr's Table do so willingly, at least not initially. Right, Svana?" He turned to look pointedly at the young woman, who nodded. "Care to tell Torvald how you came to Surtr's Table?"

She swallowed, hard, and stared at the floor.

"Svana?" Torvald's voice was choked. "Were you..."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I was initiated much the same way Carol was...was going to be. But my initiation was nowhere near that violent," she blurted out, finally raising her eyes to the High Priest's. "It was like all the other supplicants had gone mad, or were drunk on it..."

"An apt description," the old man nodded, "but as you recall, who made it so?"

Both young people exchanged a glance and shrugged. Torvald finally turned to the High Priest.

"Hallbjorn started the rape...and then the others joined in...and it just kept going..." he offered lamely.

"Think back further, lad. I gave her a choice, and Svana here confirmed it: we didn't mean to kill her. All she had to do was, in effect, choose _life_. Just relax and let it happen. Eventually her body would have adjusted to the use, and she would have realized the joy of the circumstance, even as Svana here did. Carol, though, _deliberately_, _foolishly_, chose to _defy_ the god and _fight_ all of us. She told me so in her final declaration!"

Torvald looked confused. "What declaration?"

"_Via Dolorosa_," Svana offered, "I heard her say it, but I didn't know what it meant."

"Ah. I'm glad you remember it." The old man nodded, pleased. "It's actually Old Latin: _The Way of Suffering_. According to Roman Catholic tradition, it was the actual name of the road their Christ walked on the way to his own crucifixion. Carol told us, in no uncertain terms, that she would not turn, that she would take the Way of Pain."

Torvald started to inflate again. "If you knew she would not..."

"Because I honestly thought she would come to her senses!" The old man barked, slamming his hand on the table, and Torvald jumped. "Nobody else, in the history of this coven, has resisted to that degree!"

"You were going to cut off her head," Svana said softly, coldly.

"Yes, well, I did think that Surtr had blessed us with his actual presence. I confess I got a little carried away myself," the old man shrugged. "That happens in the presence of a god."

"So, if that wasn't Surtr," Svana murmured, "who was it?"

"Possibly one of his agents, I don't know yet. That isn't important right now," the old man said impatiently. "What _is_ important is whether or not Torvald is still interested in becoming immortal. If he is..."

"Um...yes..."

"Good, then we need to provide him with his first _Mökun_ ceremony, since he wasn't initiated on Consecration Day. Get undressed, both of you," the old man commanded, rising and unbuckling his trousers.

"Ummm...what?" Torvald looked confused again, while Svana looked merely...resigned?

"The _Mökun_ is our simplest, most intimate rite. It is also the easiest way to transfer the needed energy and DNA for advancement to the next plane of existence. Watch me with Svana," the old man nodded in her direction, "and then follow along at your own pace," he commanded.

"You want me to have sex, with Svana, in front of you?" The boy was incredulous.

"That is the idea of the _Mökun_, lad. It's normally done in a group setting, but we have to get you started, and _soon_, so we're starting _here_, with a little more privacy." The old man continued disrobing, and stopped to give Svana a knowing glare. She shrugged and began stripping, but her face looked dead.

"Torvald," the old man grunted, easing himself into position with Svana, "one more thing. The _Mökun _is, by nature, a little rough. The more noise you get out of the recipient, the better."

"I don't understand," the boy frowned.

"Fuck her 'till she _screams_, boy. That way you know it worked," the High Priest said, starting to push. "Legs up, girl," he said harshly, slapping her.

Svana whimpered, but complied.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 

_The Dahl Household, Dublin, Ireland_

Carol's mother opened her email, scanning her inbox for any letter from her daughter, and her face relaxed when she finally caught the one address she most wanted to see: Carol's. It had been several weeks since she had heard from her daughter, and she was starting to worry.

_I wonder if this gets any easier with time_, she mused. _Somehow I dinna think so._

She scanned the letter, reading it carefully, noting her daughter's usual complaints about the weather, the boorish boys, and the homework, as well as her own homesickness. Oddly enough, it sounded like Carol, but something seemed...off. Bridget Dahl couldn't figure out what it was, but there was just something odd...

The doorbell rang. It was Carol's best friend: Julianne. Bridget frowned at the computer screen, apologizing for the interruption, and let the child in. She didn't really approve of her 'other' daughter's strange religion (or the odd tattoos that seemed to come with it) but she loved the girl all the same. Maybe that's why the lass still called her 'Ma' whenever she came over.

"Hullo, Ma!" Jamianne said brightly as she let her in. "I brought you some crocus from our garden. We had so many I thought you would like them," she added, pushing the basket into Mrs. Dahl's hands.

"Tha's very sweet o' you, dearie. Let me get a vase or something, to put these in. They're lovely!" The child always knew how to brighten her day. "If ye like, there's an email from Carol on me computer. Have a look," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Jamianne dropped into Mrs. Dahl's office chair and read the proffered email, her stomach sinking as she did so. Mrs. Dahl found her frowning at the screen when she got back.

"Ma," she said uncertainly.

"Yes, dearie?"

"When you were me age, did you ever get the feelin' somebody were peekin' o'er yer shoulder whilst ye were takin' a test?" The young woman's face was grim.

"Aye, a time or two...why?"

"I get that feelin' readin' this email," Jamianne said suddenly. "I dinna think Carol wrote it after all."

Mrs. Dahl frowned. "I got the same feelin'," she admitted. "We've got to speak to James when he gets in. I have a feelin' he's more up on this sort-o-thing than he lets on."

TBC


	9. A Reason to Speak

A week after her rescue from the Coven, Carol stood on her own. 'Nurse' Eir and one of her attendants helped steady her as she rose and took her first steps. When she was steady enough on her feet, she was led first to the toilet, and then to a medicinal bath.

Having the bandages removed was rough. It wasn't physically painful- Nurse Eir had been most careful to see than none of the wrappings stuck -but the shock of the angry red marks on her skin made Carol gasp, shudder, and finally weep.

_She was so ugly now..._

"NO!" Nurse Eir insisted, almost angrily. "Do not think yourself so! These," she traced a finger along one of many fresh scars, "will fade, and only a practiced eye will be able to detect them. True ugliness is in the hearts of those who did this! Courage, strength, kindness...those are _inside_ the skin. They are _real_ beauty. The wise know it; the foolish ignore it. Think on that!"

_Whatsoever things are true, pure, right...lovely...think on such things_. Carol remembered her catechism, and nodded. Truth was truth, after all.

But sometimes truth with marred skin was hard to look at. Carol thought about the Crucifixion...that could not have been pretty. _Via Dolorosa_, she reminded herself, and found a little strength.

She became acquainted with the other residents of the 'hospital', though she still could not speak. Lady Ynde was pale, even for a blonde Asgardian, and spent much of her time in her bed or walking slowly about the garden. Carol knew Lady Ynde was pregnant-she had deduced as much from the woman's swollen belly-and for her part the Lady Ynde guessed that Carol was from Midgard. Little Edelsten was an absolute delight, though her arm hurt her a great deal.

"Have you a hand-craft, Lady Carol?" Nurse Eir asked the day after her first bath. "T'would be good for your mind to focus on some work of creating, and good for your hands to be busy. Idle energy is bad for the soul, methinks."

Carol thought for a moment. She had learned to crochet small things from her grandmother...she drew a crochet hook and yarn for the hospital head, who nodded. The craft was well-known.

Carol and Lady Ynde started crocheting together the next day, and soon little Edelsten joined them. The child was an absolute delight, babbling as small children do while practicing lady-craft with the older women. She was fascinated with Carol's dark skin; apparently there were few-if any-black people around. Carol was used to that; there weren't many black people in Reykjavik either, so Edelsten's reaction was expected.

Lady Ynde was quite skilled with the hook, and a baby blanket swiftly formed under her fingers. It had been a long time for Carol, though, and all she knew how to make were small snowflakes. Edelsten started making squares. "Thou canst sew them together to make thy first blanket," Lady Ynde encouraged the child with a smile, but she had her doubts about the small lacy patterns Carol turned out. "What be they for?" she asked.

By now Carol had made 6 or 7 of the larger-than-life flakes, so she quickly hung them from a pair of sticks like a mobile, and pointed to Lady Ynde's growing belly.

"Ah," the young woman said, smiling. Tilting her head, she peered at the flower Carol was attempting to make. "Twould make an interesting shawl as well, were it much larger," she opinioned.

Carol smiled and nodded. The thought had not occurred to her, but she liked the idea.

"Lady Ynde," Edelsten asked one day, with the innocence of her years, "why dost thy belly swell when thou art so thin?"

"I bear a babe, little one," Ynde said with a patient smile. "But I grew weak at home, so Prince Thor commanded me to abide here, so I could be strong again when my time comes upon me."

"Oh. Is it hard, bearing babies?"

Ynde smiled again. "Not for naught is it called 'labour', little one. 'Tis hard work, truly."

"Oh," the child said again. Her little face puckered up when she looked at Carol. "Art going to bear a babe too, Lady Carol?"

The shock of the question went straight to her core. True to her faith, Carol was neither sexually active nor on any form of birth control. She couldn't be sure what stage of her cycle she was in when the Coven had...

She blanched, and Ynde saw her pale, even through her dark complexion.

"Lady Carol was attacked by...by bandits, I think, little one, and gravely injured. That is why she resides with us now, and by the Prince's command," Ynde quickly said, covering for her silent friend.

Carol felt nauseous. _Was_ she pregnant? If she was, what should she do? What _could_ she do? Could she even _get_ pregnant now? Assuming she would ever want to?

The crochet hook fell from numb hands, and Ynde saw the stricken look on Carol's face.

"Edelsten," she said gently, "be a dear and fetch Lady Eir. I think Lady Carol is unwell." She waited until the child was out of earshot to lay a thin hand on Carol's shaking ones, clutched in her lap. "Thou wast violated," she murmured knowingly.

Carol bit silent lips and nodded, even as tears started again.

"E'en so soon, Lady Eir will be able to tell if thou hast conceived. But know this, Lady Carol: thy chances are small. The treatments given thee after thy rescue often negate unwanted fruit. Thou shouldst have one less burden to bear, methinks," the young wife said gently.

Nurse Eir confirmed Ynde's suspicions. "Thou bearest naught: not now," she said. "Perhaps in some years ahead, if thou wishest, thee may yet have a child. But do not fear any unwanted bairn from the savages that sent you to us."

Carol sobbed in relief.

The little crocheting circle continued into the next week, and under Lady Ynde's tutelage both Carol's and Edelsten's skill increased. Lady Ynde and Edelsten carried the bulk of their conversation, however, as Carol remained silent. She could not yet bring herself to speak, though Nurse Eir pronounced her throat healed. None of them could figure out why.

"Perhaps," Nurse Eir said thoughtfully, "when thou hast something important enough to say, thou shalt find the words needed."

Carol could only shrug.

The crocheting circle grew as two more patients-both in different stages of pregnancy-checked into the 'hospital'. One of them-Lady Astrid of Scarsgard-casually asked Edelsten how she had broken her arm. The child winced and stammered before answering.

"I...I fell off my horse," she murmured, ducking her head as if ashamed.

Something twisted inside Carol's heart: the child was lying. She frowned deeply at the suddenly quiet little girl and touched her lightly on the head to get her attention. Edelsten looked up at her, wide-eyed to see Carol motion with her head: _follow me_. She nodded.

Carol led Edelsten to a secluded part of the garden and looked around to make sure they had some privacy. Sitting on a bench, she gently traced the child's casted arm, then lifted her chin with a finger so their eyes met, and shook her head.

Edelsten's eyes filled with tears. "Please don't be mad, Lady Carol," she hiccupped. "I have to obey my papa, and he said..."

Carol laid a hushing finger on the child's lips, and she fell silent, but large tears began to spill. Carol traced the child's arm again and made a talking motion with one of her bandaged hands: _tell me_.

"I...I dropped something...and it broke...and Papa said...teach me to be careful..." the words came out as choked sobs. "He said I mustn't tell...I was bad...but I didn't _mean_ to be bad...Don't tell! _Please_ don't tell! He'll be so mad!"

The child was nearly frantic, and though it hurt her still-healing torso, Carol couldn't help but pull her to her chest to comfort her. The child sobbed for a full minute, with Carol stroking her pretty blond hair and rocking her until she was quiet again.

"I have to go home tomorrow," the child finally said glumly. "Papa will be back." She looked up at Carol. "I wish I could stay here," she said, and burst into tears again.

Later that evening, Carol found Nurse Eir and told her (with the writing tablet) what Edelsten had confided to her. The medic's face was grim.

"I suspected as much. The child's break is inconsistent with a fall from a horse," she said darkly. "But there be little we can do about it. The child's word is not enough for our court, and the worm may discipline his child as he sees fit, short of killing her."

Carol was aghast. Darling Edelsten was going to be bundled off with the man who had _deliberately_ broken her arm, and there was nothing they could do? Eir saw the look on her face, and nodded grimly.

"If he attacks an adult, that adult can pursue charges, but without another family member to step in and advocate on the child's behalf, she is at her father's mercy. I hate it also, Lady Carol," the woman soothed, laying a hand on her arm, "but more than that I cannot do. She cannot speak for herself in court, because of her youth, and none here saw the man injure the child." The medic's eyes flared. "I have to hand him back his daughter on the morrow," she said, "but I do not have to like it, or respect a man so cowardly."

Carol returned to her bedroom, passing by the nursery where Edelsten slept as she did. One of the other medics was slowly rocking the child to sleep, with her head snuggled into a soft shoulder.

_I will help you if I can_, Carol promised the child silently.

The next day dawned as clear as any other, and Edelsten was dressed as finely as possible, given her cast. Her crocheting project, extra yarn, and hooks were bundled into a basket just her size, and the ladies each in turn kissed her and wished her well. Eir came to the crocheting circle to collect the child an hour after lunch.

"Edelsten, dear," she said softly, "your father is here to take you home."

The child sniffled, but put on a brave face and picked up her basket with her good hand, and followed Eir out of the garden.

Carol followed the pair at some distance to the waiting room.

"Now, my lord," Eir said to the richly dressed merchant, "we have but a few things to go over before thy _dottir _can return home. Here are the requirements for her after-care: the cast must remain in place for at least another fortnight, and I must see her at that time to see how well the bones knit."

"Can she still do her chores?" The man said with a huff. "I'll not have a lie-about in the house. She has responsibilities."

"She is but six years old," Eir said sternly, "and has a badly broken arm. No barn duties at all-not so much as gathering eggs from beneath the hens-and certainly no sweeping or raking or shoveling. I understand you want to teach the child the value of hard work," she said, raising a hand to stop the man's bluster, "but unless you want to cripple the child thou shalt **listen** and **obey me**," she said with authority, raising herself up to look him in the eyes.

The stuffy merchant backed down. "Of course, Lady Eir," he said graciously. "I meant no offense."

"That is better," the medic said stiffly. "Now, especially since the injury was obtained in some sort of barn accident..." she began.

"She fell off her horse," the stuffy prig insisted.

"_Liar_."

The voice seemed to come from everywhere-and nowhere-at once. The merchant stiffened at the accusation. "Lady Eir," he began to bluster, "do you _dare_ to impugn me?"

Eir looked about. The voice was unfamiliar. "I said nothing, my lord, other than beginning to say she should be especially careful about the barn..."

"You called me a liar," the man said, suddenly dark and angry.

"I did no such thing!" Eir protested.

The man whirled towards his now-shaking child. "Did _you_ call me a liar? Because by Odin, if you did, I'll teach you a lesson for your impudent tongue!"

Edelstenn cowered at her father's sudden temper. "No, Papa! It wasn't me!"

"_Coward_," the voice hissed again.

"WHO CALLS ME COWARD?" The merchant roared, straightening up and looking about the room.

Carol stepped out of the shadows.

"_Liar_," she hissed, "_Coward_. _You_ broke her arm. _There was no fall_." She walked towards him slowly, restrained by her many bandages, but her eyes held fire. "You twisted her arm like a wet rag until the bones snapped, _coward_! Then you_ lied_ about it to Lady Eir, _coward_! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Eir motioned to one of her assistants, who hastened over. "Fetch the Prince. Do it now."

"Yes, my lady," the woman said, and bustled out.

"You have a wicked tongue, darkling..._halfling_...what are you, some sort of _elf_? Have you no man to teach you your manners? A fortnight under _my_ roof would teach you your place, woman!" the merchant snarled.

"You are no man, if you must beat a child so and _lie_ about it," Carol hissed. "You are nothing but a cowardly dog, and I apologize to all dogs for the comparison!"

**"SILENCE, WOMAN!"** the merchant roared. **"HOLD YOUR TONGE OR LOOSE IT!"**

"You'll not strike _me_, **_coward_**. I'm not one-tenth your size!" Carol glared up at the blustering man, her hands curled into fists.

"I SAID **SILENCE!**" the man roared, his face turning purple and his eyes red. A vein popped out on his forehead, and he suddenly lunged, swinging a brutish backhand at Carol's face...

Knocking her down...

Just as Thor stepped into the clinic.

TBC


	10. The Thyng

**"All rise! The Thyng is now open! All praise to Odin All-Father, King of Asgard, Emperor of the Nine, and God of Justice! Come forward, ye who seek justice, and ye shall be heard!"**

The courtroom rang with the announcer's words, but Carol barely registered them. Her head was still spinning, and not just from the recent blow to her head.

Asgard.

Thor.

Loki.

Baldr.

Eir.

Odin.

Frigga.

**ASGARD.**

Carol wasn't even on EARTH. How could she be on another planet? She had been ready to accept some sort of military base, or a secret society tucked away north of Reykjavik. The world was a big place, and there were plenty of odd things (and people) in it. Technology changed all the time...

Thinking was making her head spin again. Lady Eir placed a comforting hand on Carol's arm and murmured something in the young woman's ear. Dazzled by the splendor of the Valholl court, and surrounded by the press of Aesir citizens, Carol didn't hear her. She was still trying to process the information given her when Thor had come to her rescue in the House of Eir, as well as her surroundings. It was a lot to take in. A tug at her arm made her wince, however, and Carol gave Eir her full attention.

"I apologize, Lady Eir. This be a lot to take in so quickly. What was it you said?"

Lady Eir tutted at her. "Pay attention, lass. I said, no matter how strong the compulsion, that you must not look the All-Father in the eye. He has but one, and it blazes like the sun. T'would be overwhelming for a Midgardian such as yourself, to be so exposed to the All-Father's magic."

Carol nodded. "I've had all the overwhelming I can take, Lady Eir. Thank you."

It was hard standing for so long, but somehow Carol managed. The court was full, and her hands twitched with nerves. She busied them adjusting the white dress Lady Eir had loaned her for the occasion, or tucking the wispy hair that had begun to grow underneath her headscarf. Carol wasn't used to being so covered. She felt a bit like a nun, but appreciated the camouflage. She didn't want people staring at the scars that glared red on her dark skin.

The cases ahead of them went swiftly. Two farmers argued over a cow that had broken down a fence and trampled a family garden. Odin gave the cow back to the original owner, but declared that the man must share the produce of his own garden to soften the blow of the family's loss, and give his neighbor the cow's next calf. A married landlord who had seduced his tenant's daughter was ordered flogged, and property rights given to her father as recompense for her deflowering. (Carol was grateful the flogging was not carried out in the court.) A farmhand was awarded a goat for wages held back by his employer. A vicious gossip was sentenced to two days confinement in the public stocks. "That she may appreciate what it is to have others wag their heads at her in shame, as she has done to others, so shall it be done to her," Odin declared.

Finally it was their turn. The battered and bruised merchant stepped forward, dividing his glances between Carol (spiteful) and Thor (fearful). His daughter, Edelstenn, clung to his side, wide-eyed as Carol at being in the royal court.

"State your name, hometown, occupation, and charges," boomed the court announcer.

"I am Ragir Ofbeldison, your Majesty. I come from Outer Glysping, where I am a merchant and a landowner. I was assaulted unjustly by your son, Prince Thor, as I was retrieving my dottir from the House of Eir only yesterday."

There was a murmur in the crowd. Thor Odinson's temper was widely known, and an altercation between the crown prince and a fat merchant could hardly be a fair fight.

"I do not wish to say aught against the crown, your Majesty, but seek only recompense for the injury wrongly given me by a lad who does not know how to control his temper," Ragir continued.

Odin raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm. Thor, son of Odin, what say you to this? Did you indeed strike this man?"

Thor glowered at the shrinking merchant before turning to his father. "I did, Father."

"Why did you do so? And in front of his child in the House of Eir, a place of healing?" Odin pulled at his beard idly, looking thoughtfully at his son.

"I was summoned by Lady Eir to her office, as trouble was brewing," Thor stated. "When I walked into the office, I saw this Ragur..."

"Ragir!" The merchant corrected him indignantly.

"Ragir, strike down another patient of Lady Eir: a woman of Midgard already under the protection of the Royal House. She could not defend herself, nor did she try to escape the blow. The blow I gave Ragir," the God of Thunder glowered down at the merchant, who shrank from him, "was given in her defense."

"I didn't know it belonged to the court!" The merchant protested. "I only sought to teach it a lesson for its wicked tongue!"

"You knew she was _somebody's_ ward," Thor growled. "You should have taken any matter of slander up with her guardian!"

"I did it no real harm! T'was just a slap! It had it coming! You nearly took off my head!"

"T'was such a slap I gave you," Thor pointed out. "Perhaps you should spar with **men**, and not women and children, and grow aught besides glass in your jaw!"

"**ENOUGH**," Odin rumbled, and the floor shook. "Where is the maiden in question?"

Lady Eir gave her a prod, and Carol stepped forward. "I am here, your Majesty," she said, bowing.

"State your name, family, and hometown for the record," insisted the court recorder.

Lady Eir had coached her on what to say. "I am Carol, daughter of James, fourth of that name, of the Dahl Clan. My family resides south of Dublin, in Ireland, on Earth, which you call Midgard."

The crowd muttered. Apparently it had been a long time since anyone from Midgard had visited Asgard.

Odin looked thoughtful. "Karl is a strange name for a maid," he said, stroking his beard, "and the report I have states you came from the Iseland, and not the Ireland," he pointed out.

Carol had run into this often in Iceland. Their alphabet did not have the letter 'C', using only 'K' for the hard 'C' sound, and 'S' where the softer form was needed. Hearing the hard 'C', people often mistook her name for the masculine 'Karl'. She bowed again. "My name is properly pronounced 'Kare-ol', your Majesty. In my country, the word indicates a song sung for the winter holidays. In your tongue, it is 'Julesang'. As for where I was found," she paused, and a shudder ran through her. Her voice, when she spoke again, was hoarse. "I were rescued from Iseland, where some sought to kill me, but my family lives indeed in Ireland."

Odin frowned, looking thoughtfully at Carol, and nodded. "Karol, called Yulesang, Jamesdottir, of the house of Dahl," he declared, and then turned to the merchant, Ragir.

"Is this the maiden you struck?"

"It is, your Majesty," Ragir said, sneering in her direction, "though I doubt it deserves the title, given the barbarity of its people."

Odin frowned even deeper. "Your bigotry is duly noted, merchant. Midgard and her people are under the protection of Asgard, as you may recall. Her people are people indeed, though much younger. They are not base creatures, to be so dismissed. You claim the right in striking her. Why?"

The merchant sneered. "_She_ slandered me, and would not be silent when corrected. A snarling dog, or child for that matter, may expect a slap from its betters. I gave _her_ no less than what _her_ actions warranted."

Carol flushed with anger, and only Eir's steadying hand on her elbow made her hold her tongue. The bright eye of Odin turned to her next, though, and Carol had to avert her eyes.

"Ragir speaks some sense, though we feel there is more to the story. Did you indeed slander this man to his face?"

Carol bowed. "I am a stranger in a strange land, your Majesty. Please tell me what is _slander_ here, and I will answer."

"You hear for yourself her impudence! She dares to direct the king!" Ragir shouted.

Odin held up a hand, and Ragir fell silent. "The child may ask for clarification, without fault," he growled at the merchant. Turning back to Carol, he smiled patiently. "Art more clever than you let on, though, child. The word translated to you as 'slander' in the All-Tongue is the same in My lands as it is in yours: a defamatory statement, made public or in front of witnesses, which the speaker knew, or should have known, was false. Did you make such a statement of Ragir's person or character?"

Carol bowed. "No, your Majesty. I did not."

**"LIES!"** Ragir bellowed. "You named me coward and liar to the entire House of Eir!"

Odin raised an eyebrow. "Is this true?" He demanded of Carol.

"It is, your Majesty."

"And why do you say this is not slander?"

"The statements I made were true," Carol asserted. "They are therefore, by definition, not slander: only unwelcome and unwanted."

"Then we are at an impasse," said Odin, settling back in his chair. "The Maid of Midgard asserts that what she said is true and not slander. If such is the case, then Ragir's strike against her was without warrant, and Thor Odinson's defense is valid. If what the Maid said was without warrant, then the strike to her was deserved, though delivered improperly, and Thor Odinson stands guilty of assault and battery." The king looked down at the trio and frowned. "Maid of Midgard: what led you to accuse the Merchant of Outer Glysping of such foulness as cowardice and lying?"

Carol bowed again. "Your Majesty, the Merchant gave his daughter-a child of only 6 years-a grave injury for a child's mistake, and then lied to the entire House of Eir as to how it happened, and did coach the child to lie as well, to cover his deed."

"YOU LYING WENCH! YOU DARE SLANDER ME TO THE COURT?!" Ragir roared with indignation. "I'LL HAVE YOU PUT IN THE STOCKS FOR THIS!"

A glare from Odin silenced the inflating merchant, and the King of Asgard turned to Lady Eir.

"With what injury was the Ragirdottir consigned to your house?"

Lady Eir stepped forward and bowed. "Edelstenn Ragirdottir was brought to me with a badly broken arm. She needed surgery to re-set the bones, and was in need of constant care afterward. She has been in my House now for just over a fortnight, my Lord."

"And to what did Ofbeldison attribute this injury?"

"My Lord, he said t'was from a fall from a horse. The child has said as much in the fortnight since her arrival."

"Do you have reason to doubt this explanation?"

Lady Eir hesitated.

"You are before your King, Lady Eir. Keep silent you may not," Odin chided.

The Healer sighed. "I do doubt this tale, my Lord. The fractures sustained by this child," she motioned to the still-casted Edelstenn, "are inconsistent with such a fall. Only a dual-twisting motion would produce such a break. Had her arm broken in a fall, the break pattern would be different."

"A dual-twisting motion...such as when one wrings out a rag?" Odin's face began to redden.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Ofbeldison," the king growled, "how do you account for this?"

"My...my child fell from her horse, my Lord," the merchant stammered, "and as she fell, her arm caught in the saddle, and twisted until it broke!"

Carol thought that Odin's glare turned radioactive. The merchant seemed to shrink for a moment as everyone's eyes turned on him, but then he puffed up again.

"And no one can say differently, for only I saw the accident!" Ragir huffed.

"Edelstenn knows what happened," Carol offered, "and she _has_ said differently."

Ragir's eyes, trained on Carol, were full of hate.

"My child cannot speak in the Royal Court, wench. You'll not call my own body and flesh against me!"

"And yet, if the child indeed told a different story, t'would explain the Midgardian's accusation against you," Odin said thoughtfully, and then turned to Carol. "I presume you did not see the images of Ragirdottir's bones, prior to confronting him?"

"I dinna, your Majesty," Carol admitted. "Edelstenn confessed to me privately o' her father's actions. I then spoke to the Lady Eir, who confirmed it."

Ragir turned a blood-red face down to his daughter. "**YOU are the cause of all this trouble? By the Crown, you shall pay for your wickedness!"** The man was apoplectic. **"Just you wait until we get home, mother's-bane!"**

Edelstenn's tiny face drained of color, and she began to wail with fear. "No, Papa! Please! Please!"

"What will ye do to her now, merchant? Break her other arm? Her jaw, perhaps?" Carol was livid. "What excuse will you use then with Lady Eir?"

**"You stay out of this, Midgardian wretch! How I discipline my child is my own business, and not even the King can say otherwise!"** Ofbeldison roared back.

**"BEG...TO...DIFFER!"** Odin's statement made the floor shake, and the merchant, paling, turned to face his King.

"You broke your dottir's arm." There was no question now in Odin's voice.

"She...the clumsy spawn dropped my late wife's favorite vase...and broke it...I meant to teach her to be careful..." Ragir stammered.

"And you lied to Lady Eir about it, endangering your own dottir's care," the King continued, quietly.

Carol thought that quiet Odin was even scarier that loud Odin.

"I...I didn't want to distract the woman's tender mind with tales that didn't concern her..." Ragir continued lamely, whining.

"And you have lied in open court to your King."

Ragir paled and swallowed a large lump that suddenly formed in his throat. The rest of the court was eerily silent. Odin turned suddenly to Carol.

"Karol, called Julesang, Jamesdottir of the house of Dahl, you are cleared of the charge of slander," Odin said regally. "The blow you endured was given to you unjustly. I also think," he peered at her thoughtfully, "that you endured it on purpose. Is that so?"

Carol bowed. "That is true, your Majesty. It were the only way I could think o', to get the Ofbeldison before a magistrate. Lady Eir did tell me that the child could nae speak to a judge on her own behalf," she admitted. "But I thought that **I** could press charges, were he to strike me, an' he did."

"Very clever," Odin said, nodding. "Thor, son of Odin," he continued, turning to the blond giant in the middle of the floor, "you are cleared of assault and battery, and as your king and father, I do commend you for your action in protecting the Maid of Midgard."

"Thank you, All-Father," Thor said, placing his right hand over his chest and bowing his head.

"The blow Ragir gave to the Maid was unjust, but it has been properly avenged by Thor's counter-strike," Odin declared. "The scales tip even here."

Carol's heart sank, and she stole a glance at the weeping child across the room. Ragir was still staring at her with hatred.

"But it appears there is another matter within this case, that is brought to the Thyng," Odin declared. "What shall we do with the Ofbeldison, who has lied to the King, and the King's agents, and who has harmed the King's ward? For all of the children of Asgard belong to the Crown, **LET ALL MY PEOPLE KNOW IT!"** Odin thundered, and the crowd shrank back.

**"THOR!"** Odin shouted.

Thor's head snapped up: surprised. "Yes, Father?" His voice was low, and thunder rolled outside.

**"LOKI!"** Odin's voice shook the building.

A flash of green fire brought a man with long, dark hair to stand next to the blond giant. "Yes, Father?"

**"BALDER!"** Odin's voice rang like a bell.

"Yes, Father?" Another blond giant, this one not quite as tall as Thor, appeared with a flash of white light, and his presence light up the Thyng.

**"HODR!"** Odin's voice, black and threatening, twisted through the Hall.

"Yes, Father?" A tall man, clad all in black and with short, dark red hair, stepped out of a shadow. He tapped with a long stick, for he was blind, and the people shrank from him. The God of Darkness was feared indeed.

**"TYRE!"** Odin's voice crashed like ringing swords.

"Yes, Father?" Another red-headed giant appeared, seeming to shimmer up from the ground itself, like a sword pulled out of its sheath. His left arm ended in a stump, and was covered with a metal band where his hand should have been.

"My **SONS**," Odin declared, "turn about and see your people! Gods of **Thunder**, of **Mischief** and **Magic**, of **Light**, of **Darkness**, and of **War**, see the people of Asgard! People of Asgard: behold my **SONS**."

The five princes were each chiseled images of male perfection, and there was a lot of sighing among the women in the crowd. _What a pity_, thought Carol to herself, _that I dinna want a man any longer. Odin's sons are hot indeed. _

"Father isn't trying to marry one of us off again, is he?" Baldr said in a quiet aside to Loki.

Loki only shrugged.

But the King wasn't finished. Glaring down at the cowering merchant, he gestured to the five princes between them.

"Just over a thousand years have I been a father," King Odin declared, "and I defy any man to raise a brood like this," he continued coldly, "and not call it a challenge. But despite all that, **I NEVER HAD TO BREAK A BONE**. You, son of Ofbeldi, are a poor father, and a cowardly man: a _disgrace_ to my realm."

Ragir Ofbeldison quailed before the King.

"You lack any care or even empathy for your own flesh and blood. I am minded to strip you of your parental rights, until such time as I am convinced of your repentance and true concern for her welfare," Odin declared. "Lady Eir: is there room in your house yet for this child?" The King asked softly.

"There is, my Lord," Eir said, bowing. "She is a delight, and is most welcome."

"Then shelter her you will, until she is well, and her mother's kindred can be found, or a foster can be located." Odin declared. "Take her from my court."

Eir bowed and complied, comforting the sobbing Edelstenn as they left. Carol smiled.

"Ragir, I strip you of your fatherly rights, since you seem unfit for those duties," Odin continued.

Ragir seemed to relax. He was being delivered from a responsibility he really didn't want. It was hard work, after all, to court another woman with a child already in the home. He actually smiled.

"My King knows best," he simpered, bowing.

"And your King is mindful that you need a lesson in both manners and empathy," Odin said coldly. "One unafraid of lying to his King cannot be trusted with matters of goods, weights, and measures. Your license as a merchant is hereby forfeited, and your property is seized. It shall be held in trust for your dottir's care, until you prove yourself ready to be a father again to her, with better wisdom. If her wedding day comes before such a time appears, then your land and holdings will be transferred to her as her dowry, ne'er to be visited by you again, except by her will."

Ragir gulped again.

"Guards," Odin growled softly, "seize me this merchant and hold him!"

A pair of men in matching armor stepped forward and grabbed the suddenly squirming merchant by the elbows. Odin leaned forward.

"Your lesson in empathy will start with the same pain you gave your six-year-old dottir," Odin said darkly. "You broke her _arm_, and you broke faith with Me, your _King_. Baldr and Hodr: gods of Justice and Darkness!"

"Yes, Father," the two men spoke as one.

"Break his arms: one for his dottir's _pain_, and one for his broken _honor_. May the pain teach him the value of justice, and may his healing drive the selfish, cowardly darkness out of his heart!"

A tap sounded on the floor as Hodr's walking stick led him to the quavering merchant. The shining god and the shadowy one stepped forward, and each grabbed the merchant by one arm. Two cracks and a pitiful shriek from the merchant later, and the guards dragged his unconscious form from the Thyng.

Carol was shaken. She hadn't expected to see such a brutal sentence carried out; in Ireland the man would have been confined to jail and fined at the most. She suddenly wished for Lady Eir, but the Healer had already left the Hall. Alone, she began to panic. She was surrounded by strangers...

"Karol, called Yulesang, Jamesdottir of the House of Dahl," the king said thoughtfully, looking down at her even as the unconscious merchant was dragged out of the Hall.

"Yes, your Majesty?" Carol couldn't keep the shake out of her voice.

"We have one more problem to address. How came you to Asgard?" Odin asked thoughtfully.

"I dinna know," Carol admitted. "Me last moments in Iceland, I were near death. I woke in Lady Eir's house, an' it were disguised as a hospital."

"Have you any family here?" Odin stopped tugging on his beard, and rested his chin on his fist instead.

Carol shook her head. "None that I know of, your Majesty."

Baldr stepped up. "Father, tests show that the Lady Karol does indeed have Aesir blood in her veins. We have had to focus our efforts on her healing, and have not been able to isolate her family yet."

Odin nodded. "Then until such time as your family here can be found, I do so declare you Karol, called Julesang, Jamesdottir, a ward of the Royal Court. When the Lady Eir declares you healed enough to leave her tending, you shall find refuge in my house and holdings, until your proper family can be found."

Carol bowed her head. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"How knew you that the Ofbeldison was lying?"

The king's question caught her by surprise. "I dinna know, your Majesty," she shrugged. "Only, when I heard the story from Edelstenn and later from Ofbeldison: the truth were not in either's story."

"How _knew_ you this?" The King's question was gentle, but probing.

Carol was at a loss. She didn't _know_ how she knew. She had just..._felt_ it. "I...I dinna know." She shook her head. "I cannae say how I knew. It were sommat I _felt_, sort o'," she poked a hand at her heart, "here. Sommat twisted, inside, an' I knew. I cannae explain it."

Odin's eyebrows rose. "Art a truthsayer, then?"

"I dinna know what that rightly is, your Majesty," she hesitated a moment, "but my Da...my father...him 'tis impossible to lie to. He always _knows_, somehow, an' there be many boys that sought to court me wrongfully that fled from him, methinks. My gran-da were the same way."

Odin smiled. "Tis the mark of a good father, to so take care of his maiden daughter. The gift of truth-saying indeed runs in your blood, Karol Julesang. 'Tis a good indicator of Aesir ancestry, for 'tis a common gift here." He smiled kindly at the forlorn woman. "Art willing to swear fealty to the Crown of Asgard for the duration of your stay, Julesang?"

"I be forbidden from swearing oaths, your Majesty, by my faith and the faith of my family, but if my obedience and faithfulness to your law be your wish, then you shall have it. My aye be aye, and my nay be nay," she declared, shaking a bit.

"T'will serve," Odin nodded his acceptance. "Baldr, you will escort Lady Julesang back to Lady Eir's house."

"Yes, Father." The shining god turned to the maid and extended his hand. "Come, my lady."

Loki, the stern-looking raven-haired god Carol had seen appear in green flames, stepped suddenly up to Baldr and Carol. "Brother, I would accompany you both back to Eir's House. I have wished to interview the woman since her arrival, but have been prevented by her inability to speak. Now that her tongue is loosed, we may find out the truth of her ordeal."

His voice was deep, and though he did not threaten Carol, she still found him foreboding. Suddenly she was _very_ aware of the crowd around her: the press of flesh, the curious stares, even some of the possessive glances thrown her way by some of the men. Lady Eir was the only person, besides Edelstenn, that Carol had known in the building, and now both were gone, leaving her surrounded by strangers. Thor walked up to his brothers, smiled kindly at Carol, and spoke in low tones, but Carol couldn't hear him.

Her throat was tightening, and her lungs constricting. The men in front of her seemed to move in slow motion: one of them reaching for her arm even as he spoke in low tones with the other. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she shrank instinctively away from the grasping fingers. Their words turned into a senseless rumble in her ears...she couldn't _breathe_, and the only sound she could make out was the pounding of her own heart...the room started to go dark...She wished to run, but there was nowhere to go, and her feet would not move...

_WHAP_. Hodr's walking stick thumped the trio in the chest. "Hold, my brothers! The maid is terrified of you. Can you not hear the pounding of her heart? Lay off, I say!"

Baldr started and withdrew his hand, looking at Carol's face for the first time. The look in her eyes reminded him of a terrified deer, and he cursed his own insensitivity.

"My apologies, Lady Karol," he soothed, a soft glow radiating from his skin. "Please do not fear us: we mean you no harm," he said gently.

_Alone...surrounded..._

"Perhaps Mother should be called?" Loki suggested.

"I am here," a golden voice said, and the four tall gods bowed their heads in deference to their mother. "Karol Julesang, Jamesdottir, look on me." The voice was quiet and gentle, soft like silk but strong as steel, and it broke through the fog that was Carol's thinking. "Look on _me_, now, child."

Carol tore her eyes away from the surrounding giants, and found herself face to face with the Queen of Asgard: a stately woman with red-gold hair, wrapped in a silver gown and wearing a golden circlet on her head. Her eyes were an intense blue, and as she looked into them Carol found her fear evaporating.

"You have had much pain, child, but shalt find rest with us. Let go of your fear, if you can. You are safe here," the Queen soothed, "my sons will do you no harm. Come now, child," she urged, extending her hand, "I would show you to your rooms, and properly introduce you to a friend. Come with me, Karol Julesang: have no fear."

Carol remembered her manners suddenly, and dropped one knee in a clumsy curtsey. "Thank you, my Lady," she whispered, giving Queen Frigga her battered fingers.

Queen Frigga turned to one of her handmaidens. "Set the solarium for luncheon for three," she ordered quietly, then quickly tucked Carol's proffered hand into the crook of her own arm. "Let us go, child, and leave this busy place behind."

Carol could only nod.

TBC


	11. Circles

_Iceland_

"For the protection of this Circle, we call upon thee. For the good of those gathered, we implore thee..." Hallbjorn continued the elaborate chant as he cut the rabbit's throat, draining its blood into a bowl. Lilijana, he thought, looked a little green. He added selected herbs to the bowl, continuing to chant, and then used the mixture to create an elaborate glyph around the rabbit's body, which one of the other men had staked to the ground. He then set the rabbit's fur ablaze. "Hear us, oh Lord ! Smite the one who would challenge thee! Confound all her council! Crush her till she cannot rise again!"

Hallbjorn finished his chant in front of his circle of friends. Each of them held a candle and murmured appreciatively. "So mote it be," he said, picking up a handful of the sacred herbs and casting it into the small fire. "Her fate be sealed," he declared, throwing the picture Lilijana had supplied into the flames.

"So mote it be," the group echoed, each individual throwing a pinch of herbs into the flames. "Her fate be sealed."

The group broke up after that, a few of them grabbing leftover chicken to munch on, while Lilijana sidled up to Hallbjorn.

"Do you really think it will work?" she asked cautiously. Hallbjorn was notoriously touchy about these things, and she _was_ still a new supplicant. "I'm just curious, really. This is all new to me," she admitted, "and the distance..."

"Distance is nothing with magick," Hallbjorn replied confidently.

"So what happens now?"

Hallbjorn shrugged. "We go on with living. It's out of our hands, now. Of course, there are a few things I would like to get _my_ hands on, if you know what I mean," he said, leveling his gaze at her breasts.

"You don't say," she smirked. "You sure Svana won't mind?"

"She hasn't been herself lately," Hallbjorn complained huskily, "I can't imagine her complaining about a night off, especially since she isn't here."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Svana placed a hand on the wrought-iron gate that surrounded the church garden, and winced a bit at the shock it gave her. The flowers the nuns grew here had always intrigued her, their perfume teasing her nose, but she had never gone inside. She couldn't now. Not since joining the Coven...

She knew they were gathering tonight, and suspected why. Hallbjorn thought it best to set a ward up against any magical interference from Carol's witch friend in Ireland. It wouldn't take much energy, after all. The Lord and Lady _most _Wiccans worshipped were basically cosmic hippies: all love and nature balance and dancing in the moonlight. They weren't at all like the god _their_ high priest called on: the one who demanded blood and pain and rewarded them with eternal beauty and sensuality.

Svana thought back to her own initiation night, and shuddered. Carol's screams still haunted her; they reminded Svana of her first time on the altar. She had given her pain, all right; it had been torn out of her. Her immortal beauty had come at the price of her self-respect, along with the right to choose with whom, when, and where she would...

She looked up at the cut-glass window that shown over the garden. It held the image of a woman in a white-and-blue robe, with a kind face shining down on the path through the flowers. She looked serene, and Svana wondered idly who she represented. Maybe it was Jesus' mother? If so, she wondered if Carol was in _that_ Lady's presence even now.

She hoped so.

It would be better than Reykjavik.

Svana sighed and looked up at the figure in the stained-glass window. A lone tear coursed down her perfect cheek.

"I'm sorry, Carol," she whispered.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Elsewhere in the Cosmos..._

The Sorcerer rubbed his hands together with glee. He was going to enjoy this...

The picture immolated by the Icelandic coven materialized in front of him.

"Really?" He murmured, looking at the rare beauty represented on the odd paper. Not even Asgard had women like this. He scowled. It seemed such a waste, to have to destroy such a fine genetic component. What a pity!

But pity was for fools and weaklings, and the Sorcerer was a god...

To his worshippers at least.

He looked down at the image in front of him...

And smiled.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Ireland_

Jamiann talked long with the Dahls, sharing the nightmare she had been having. Ma Dahl explained the meaning of the 'Via Dolorosa' sign, but understanding did not make the young woman feel better.

Jami and Carol had been friends since primary school, and if there was one thing Jami knew, it was Carol's heart. Once Carol was convinced of something-_anything_-nothing could dissuade her to act or speak differently. So Jami knew that, if Carol was outnumbered, even surrounded, by an enemy Coven, she wouldn't forswear her faith. She wouldn't do it to save her own skin. She was just the type of girl to take the Via Dolorosa.

Bridget Dahl knew it, too, and clutched her crucifix until her knuckles turned white. She rose from her chair, shaking, and picked up her phone.

"Sister Mary, m'dear? It's Bridget...Aye...listen, sommat has come up, an' I'm worried about my Carol. Can we get the ladies together tonight? I want to start a novena...Aye, that will be fine. I'll see you at seven. Good bye, now."

Bridget hung up the phone with shaking hands, looking out her kitchen window and slowly twisting her prayer beads through her fingers, one at a time.

"Ma?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What's a novena?"

Bridget Dahl smiled a little ruefully. Her other daughter had strange ways, but never a disrespectful tongue.

"It's a nine-day cycle of prayer, m'dear. We use them for important things: events, special occasions, intercession and the like. Sister Mary Grace is a well-known intercessor. If anybody can get the Lord's attention to protect my Carol, it'll be her."

James finally admitted a strange dream _he_ had been having.

"I keep dreaming about a chess match," he told Bridget and Jami, his large hands gripping his coffee. "But it's a match betwixt 5 players, and not just two. My set be made of White Marble, and across the table are sets made of Ruby, Gold, Onyx, and Silver." He frowned. "I know t'is odd, but..."

"Where do the pieces meet, Da?" Jamiann asked.

"In the middle, o' course," he shrugged. "An' they be all mixed up. White Queen's Bishop gets surrounded by Onyx pawns, but taken by Gold Queen's Knight. An' my Da is there, an' he's sayin' ta me "Boi, it's yer move now. Make it a guddun."

"Odd, that is," nodded Bridget, looking tired, "t'would seem play would go 'round the board. It should be Ruby's turn, and not Marble's."

James blinked at his wife, surprised. "Aye, that be true." He stared into his coffee mug for a few moments more. "I'll speak to me Captain on the morrow, and send a message to the Peelers in Iceland. Mayhap they can do a welfare check on our Carol. We'll get a right answer out o' those lads, can be sure."

After a few more pleasantries, Jamiann took her leave of them both and climbed into her old car to go home. She knew the Dahls would have gladly put her up for the night, but Jami wanted to call a few of her own Coven members, and she knew Mum and Da would not approve. She was lost in thought when she finally entered her cottage, so much so that she tripped over the stick that lay across the floor as she entered. Jami cursed in frustration, and then frowned when she realized exactly what 'stick' lay across her floor.

It was her broom: the broom she had left carefully hanging on its grip-hook when she left the house that morning.

To any other person, finding a broom lying across the floor was an annoyance, or an act of carelessness, or both. Jamiann, however, was a Wiccan, and for her finding the fallen broom was a bad omen. It was especially spooky when she considered how difficult it was to get the broom OUT of the grip-hook when she wanted to use it.

Jamiann picked up her broom and shoved it back into its grip-hook, closing it with a 'snap'. She turned to drop her purse in her bedroom...

Only to hear the broom clatter to the floor again.

Jamiann frowned at the sight, and tried to think of a good excuse for the hook to fail, but couldn't. It was new. She groaned, grabbed the broom, slammed it into the coat closet for the time being, and walked into her bedroom. She wanted to set up a meeting with her core group, and then bathe. Surely a good bath would make her feel better! The sight of her bedroom, however, made her stop short.

The bedroom was a hot mess. Her normally orderly collection of tapers lay strewn across the floor, as if scattered there by a strong wind. Her hand mirror lay cracked in front of her dresser, and the ceramic symbol of the moon phases lay in pieces on the floor. Her bedroom window, however, was snugly locked.

A fallen/falling broom was a bad omen. Her room was a portent of _really_ bad shit! Jamiann forgot about the bath, and rang up her High Priestess.

The older woman listened patiently as Jami spilled her story over the phone. When Jami told of the mess in her house, however, she quickly grew serious.

"How fast can you get here?" her aunt demanded.

"I...ah...about half an hour," Jami confessed. "There be some things I need to gather first, an' I have nae found me familiar." Jami kept a cat-a cream-colored ball of fluff that normally would have head-butted her by now to ask for a treat-but it was nowhere in sight.

"Grab what ye need, gerl, and get over here. I'll ring up the rest. Your familiar can look out for herself, ye see. If this is what I think it is, we need to take steps," the priestess cautioned. "Oh, and be mindful on the roads. I dinnae want ye to have an accident."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

Jamiann didn't find her kitty until she was ready to leave. She seemed to have locked it in the hallway closet somehow. It hissed at her, upset, and tore out of the house.

She didn't have time to chase after the animal, so Jami threw the few things she had gathered-photo albums, mostly, and her BOS diary, into her car and took off.

Aunt Colleen was waiting for her when she arrived. "Sit down, Jami dear. The others will be here soon. Have you had aught to eat?"

Jami thought for a moment. "Not since noon, an' it were a light meal. I was going to throw a dinner in the microwave..."

The older woman snorted. "Ye and yer radioactive food! I swear you'll be the death o' me. Siddown, dear." So saying, she handed Jami a bowl of fresh mutton stew with some slices of soda bread. "Somethin' told me I'd be havin' company tonight, so I made extra. Now eat up."

Jami hadn't considered herself hungry until the stew's aroma hit her nose. It didn't take her long to finish it, and sop up the gravy with the bread. She was finishing the last bite when her cousin John walked in, and kissed his ma on the cheek.

"I drove by the winery on the way here, Ma. Thought you might be needin' a bottle o' this. It sounded urgent." He handed a large bottle of sweet red wine to his mom, and came round and kissed Jami on the cheek as well. "Hello, darlin'. Good to see you again. What's goin' on?"

"I'd rather wait till everyone gets here, John," Jami said grimly.

John raised his eyebrows, but nodded.

It wasn't long until the rest of the coven arrived. Jami and John helped arrange the chairs in the living room into a circle, while Sean set up the images of the God and Goddess. Erin made a circle on the floor out of sea salt, while Colleen set out a number of colored candles on its perimeter.

"Wind; join us!" Seamus said, lighting a yellow candle.

"Fire; join us!" said Jamiann, lighting the red taper.

"Water; join us!" said Erin, touching a flame to a blue one.

"Earth; join us!" said John, setting a green candle ablaze.

"Spirit; join us!" said Sean, lighting the purple candle.

The company joined hands, and called to the four watchtowers of the winds: North, East, South, and West. When the youngers had finished, Colleen stepped forward, and with raised hands implored Nexus, the great Mother, to bless their gathering and keep them safe. With the circle established the coven all sat down and started passing snacks around. Magic took energy, after all, and it wouldn't do to have a low blood sugar moment while casting.

"So, what's going on?" asked Erin, another one of Jami's friends, when they had all settled down and started munching.

Jami took a deep breath and started from the beginning: Carol's text, her sudden silence, the strange email, and her nightmares. She explained what Mrs. Dahl had told her about the Via Dolorosa, and Mr. Dahl's strange dreams. She was about to tell about her experiences at her house when one of the other boys interrupted.

"I don' think I've met this Carol," Seamus said, looking puzzled. "Be she a part of a different coven, or a cousin o' yours, or sommat?"

"She's my best friend," Jami explained. "We've been friends forever, I think. She's off to college in Iceland now."

"Oh. Have you tried contacting her coven there?"

"I canna do that, Seamus. She's Roman Catholic, like her mum and da."

"Yer funnin' me," Seamus objected. "You're worked up over losing touch with a gal what doesn't share your _faith_? I'll tell ye what happened, Jami dear," he started to get red in the face. "This Catholic friend o' yours finally figgered out her religion is contrary to yours, and chose _church_ over _you_. If you ever see her again, she'll be wearin' a habit, thumpin' that Book o' theirs, and stickin' her nose in the air!"

"You dinna know Carol like I do," protested Jamiann.

"I know plenty o' Catholics," the boy groused, "they're all the same."

"That's enough," the High Priestess said sternly. "I'll not have any of you painting _anybody_ of _any_ religion with one brush. Miss Dahl was last known in the company of another Coven in Iceland. If she be dead, does that make all Wiccans killers?"

Seamus groused, but held his tongue.

Jamiann turned a little green, and the High Priestess saw it at once. "Sorry dear, but he were bein' an ass, an' needed to know his place. Here, love," she uncorked the sweet red John had brought, and poured glasses for them all, "let's have a touch, and hear the rest of the story."

Jamiann's Coven did indeed hear the rest of her story.

But the wine was sour.

"John, dear," asked the High Priestess, looking thoughtfully at her glass, "_When _did you say you bought this?"

"Today."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sister Mary Grace had tea and cookies ready when Bridget Dahl walked into the church basement. Some of her friends were already there as well: Fiona McCllenan, Sarah Babcock, Rose Ellen, and Gracie Llewellan had come when Sister Mary Grace called. They were a good, solid bunch of ladies, well-known in the church for their prayer circle and the soup kitchen they ran. Bridget was not so pleased to see Sierra Patrick: the woman was a hard worker, but a notorious gossip with a sharp tongue, to boot. Sierra had opposed Bridget's marriage to James years ago; supposedly because he wasn't a 'real' Catholic, but Bridget suspected it had more to do with him being black.

Bridget took a deep breath and sipped her tea. Now wasn't the time to dwell on old hurts.

Sister Mary Grace opened the circle with the Lord's Prayer and a reciting of the Rosary. The others followed along on their beads, taking comfort in the mutual sharing of the Scriptures and historical prayers. When they had finished, Mary Grace turned the circle over to Bridget, "since we are gathered together tonight for her family's burden," the nun explained.

"Thank you, Mary Grace," Bridget said, and taking a deep breath, she gave a quick account of her daughter's odd behavior and silence over the past few weeks. She saw several ears prick up when she mentioned the dream brought to her by Carol's old school chum.

"Now that's somethin', an' no mistake," Mary Grace said. "Be this another gal of the Church?"

"Nay, and that's what's odd. She weren't raised Catholic at all, an' didn't know what the Via Dolorosa was. I had to explain it," Bridget told her.

"This could be nothin' to fret about, dear," Fiona offered. "It is gettin' near the end o' the term. She could just be overloaded with work."

"An' yet it could be somtin' serious," Rose cut in, "we don't know one way or 'tother. Better to pray, an' let the Lord sort things out."

"This friend o' your daughter's," Sierra mused, "be she red-haired, with bright blue eyes and creamy skin?"

"Aye,"

"Lots o' weird markin's on her skin?"

Bridget sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "They're called tattoos, Sierra."

Sierra snorted. "She's a devil worshipper for sure! She'll turn the whole house of ye into devil worshippers too!" The woman actually stood up and shook a finger in Bridget's direction. "That's what you ought to be prayin' about: getting that influence outa yer gal's life! I don't know why you put up with that little pagan slip o' ..."

"That's _enough_," said Mary Grace sternly. "Our Lord shed his blood for _all_ sinners, not just _Catholic_ ones. If we canna share the love of our Lord with unbelievers, how can we fulfill the Great Commission? Sit _down_, Sierra! We're here to pray, not to pass judgment! If you canna do the first without the second, you know where the door is!"

Sierra stood there and glared at Sister Mary Grace, then turned and left with a huff. The air seemed to clear as the door slammed behind her.

"Now, sisters, let us join hands..." offered Mary Grace, and the other women drew in their chairs.

Prayer went on for an hour, with each woman taking turns sharing various burdens, mentioning Carol (for Bridget's sake), and quoting scripture. At some point Mary Grace left off praying in English, and turned to Irish-Gaelic instead. She had been raised speaking the language, and resorted to it when praying most earnestly.

The room filled with energy, and when Friar Bacon walked through the room, he was astonished to see the women's faces: nearly incandescent, rapturous, they seemed to fill the place with light. He would declare later he could almost hear angels singing "and it's no wonder," he said, "with that Mary Grace praying."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Elsewhere..._

The Sorcerer chuckled, and passed his hand along the blue flame in front of him...

TBC


	12. Niorun

Queen Frigga led Carol gently through the vast hall to a comfortable room overlooking a flower garden. Pastel, gauzy curtains graced window arches and fluttered a breeze that carried scents of roses, lilacs, and peaches. Rose-and-pearl-colored tiles covered the floor, and gold fixtures scattered across the walls held candles, or curtains, or small mirrors. A comfortable ring of reclining chairs surrounded a low table in the middle of the room, and over this was another canopy of gauze. A large teapot sat in the middle of the table, along with a tray of what looked like scones and fruit. Beyond that sat another woman: tall and olive-skinned, with hair like wood-smoke. Her dress was at once gauze and mist, cream and soft gray, and it seemed to float of its own accord, rather than simply drape itself around the lady's figure. This woman rose at the entrance of the Queen and her guest, passing through the gauze canopy to curtsey reverently.

"My Queen," she said simply.

"Niorun, my friend" Queen Frigga said with a smile, "I am always delighted to see you. Thank you for joining us." The Queen of Asgard turned to the young woman clinging to her arm. "And of course you already know Lady Karol, Jamesdottir of the Dahl clan, from Midgard."

Carol was instantly confused. The woman looked familiar, vaguely somehow, but she didn't remember meeting this woman _at all_, amd didn't want to be rude. She hesitated for a moment before curtseying.

"I'm sorry, but I dinna remember you, Lady Niorun. But pleased to make your acquaintance, I truly am," she said, bowing her head again.

Lady Niorun smiled. "Do not feel bad, child. This is our first meeting in waking-time, though we may have others soon, if the Queen decides it is best for your healing."

"I...I'm sorry. I dinna understand." Carol was getting flustered.

Queen Frigga smiled patiently. "Lady Niorun has visited you in your sleep this past fortnight, young Karol. She works with the Lady Eir on what you call the night shift."

Comprehension dawned on Carol's dark face. "I dreamed of you! We walked in a garden, or sat by a pond, or crocheted on a bench by a wall. There were other voices, harsh ones, calling me, but they coudna get across the wall."

Niorun smiled. "Aye, child. Those were nightmares, and would have disturbed your rest and healing. For that reason Prince Thor called me to your side."

Memory kicked in again, this time from her college literature class. "You are the Dream-Weaver!" Carol exclaimed, curtseying.

Niorun rolled her eyes at that, and gave a non-committal wag of her hand. "Not entirely correct, dear one. Technically, I am the Patroness of Unconscious Thought, of which dreams are certainly a form. But come, let us sit, for we have much to discuss," she motioned to the waiting lounge chairs and teapot.

When the three ladies had seated themselves, Niorun turned to Queen Frigga. "I have seen many things in the memories of this poor child, my Queen. Where do you think it best to begin?"

The Queen was idly stirring a small water bowl with a finger, and with a casual flick of that finger she splashed some water on the mirror opposite Carol. "At the beginning of the story, I deem." She turned to Carol and smiled gently. "How came you to the Iseland, Karol Jamesdottir?"

Lady Niorun poured tea for them all as Carol began her tale. She didn't mind telling this part; it was safe enough.

"I were in Iceland to study at the University of Reykjavik, my lady. My da-my father, I mean, always said I had a good gift of tongues, and that I should study abroad, and mayhaps enter public service at some port or consulate. The work is in great demand in my country and many others," she explained.

"You wish to work as an ambassador?" The Queen seemed surprised. "Such posts are held by men only, here in Asgard, as well in the other 7 Great Realms."

Carol shook her head. "Becoming an ambassador is risky at best. I would take a position as a translator or attaché' or some other servant of the consular."

The Queen nodded. "To promote understanding between two peoples is a noble occupation. How many languages do you speak now?"

"Six, your Majesty," Carol answered: "English and Irish-Gaelic, o' course, an' High German, some Icelandic an' Norwegian, an' Japanese."

"Japanese?" The Queen looked to Lady Niorun for guidance on this one. "I don't recall that Midgardian dialect."

"Lord Hogun's heart language, my lady," the goddess replied.

"Ah, yes. Of course," Frigga turned back to Carol. "A most difficult tongue, as I recall. The meanings of words change with their tones, and not just with their forms. Am I correct?"

Carol nodded. "It does make it more difficult, aye."

"And so, you were in the Iseland to study, but not in Reykjavik when you were found. What took you from the University," the Queen pressed?

Carol took a breath and set down her cup. The story was already getting difficult.

"I were doing research for another class, your Majesty," she said slowly, "one that focused on religious differences. Understanding a different faith can help clear up cultural confusion in a translating position, such as I were training for." Her voice cracked once, and Niorun cocked her head to one side, but held her peace.

"So, your instructor commanded you to seek the woods?" Frigga pressed.

"No, your Majesty. He only told us to observe and report about a religious ritual that we had not grown up with or practiced," Carol said numbly.

Niorun gave Frigga a knowing look and nodded.

"You were in the woods to watch a ritual you had never before seen?"

"Aye," Carol nodded. Her nose was starting to run, and she looked around for a napkin or handkerchief. Niorun handed her one across the table, and she blew her nose.

"What faith was it?" The Queen was relentless.

"Ummm," Carol was suddenly uncomfortable, _very_ aware that she was in the presence of a 'pagan' goddess. The conflict with her Catholic upbringing was suddenly awkward.

"Child," Frigga said softly, but with a mother's firmness, "are you afraid to speak your mind now? With me? Would you avoid the truth of what is on your heart?"

Carol shook her head. "They...I were raised with but one God, your Majesty, an' I mean no disrespect," she added quickly, "but any other faith than mine own is called 'pagan' or 'heathen', an' their gods an' goddesses to me be not gods. For me, there be only one God, who has no beginnin' or end, an' who made all things in the universe, an' who will judge all when it ends," she said in a rush.

The Queen looked surprised. "Really? What then of Asgard? Or indeed Jotunheimr? Or the home of the Elves? How does your faith explain these things?" she asked pointedly.

"All life originally came from God, so we are all kindred spirits, e'en if our forms are different," Carol struggled to explain.

"Might say differently if you met a troll or a Dökkálfar Raider," Frigga said pointedly.

Carol frowned thoughtfully. "We ha' stories o' trolls, but a Dökkálfar Raider I ne'er heard o' before. Be they people, o' beasts?"

"It depends on whom you ask," Niorun said dryly.

Carol just looked even more confused. "Then I dinna know how to classify them," she said, shaking her head. "A beast may do a bad thing, but has no soul, and is not capable o' sin. It just be an animal doin' what animals do, an' sometimes that action is not prosperous to people, so we call it 'bad'. 'Good' an' 'evil' take knowledge an' intent, an' beasts don't ha' that capability," she struggled to explain. "People do."

"The cosmos is a wide place, Julesang Jamesdottir. There are things in it you cannot begin to comprehend nor explain away so prettily; things that will not fit into the neat boxes your faith has prepared for you. I suggest you open your mind," the Queen said sharply.

Carol blinked, taken aback. She had not meant to offend the Queen, but apparently she had anyway, though she knew not how. "Your Majesty," she said tentatively, "I meant no offense, jest ta' answer your question as best as I ken: I were raised knowin' but one God, an' at my teacher's proddin' I sought the company o' people who worshipped another, seekin' to understand their ways. That be why I were in the woods east o' Reykjavik, my lady, an' in the company o' people what sought me death."

"Where was this one precious god of yours, Julesang, while you were being sacrificed to another? Did you so offend him by attending such a ritual that he abandoned you to cruelty?" the Queen demanded.

"Your Majesty," Carol said stiffly, "ye ask me questions what have puzzled scholars greater than me for centuries. If they have nae found answers with all their learnin', how ken I? And so soon after..." she choked as bile rushed up, but managed to swallow it back down.

Frigga seemed mollified by this answer, and took a sip of her tea before continuing. "Very well, you have said your attackers were of a faith different from your own. Can you say which one?"

Carol frowned. "I cannae be sure, your Majesty." The Queen gave her a sharp look, so she hastened to explain. "I was told they were Wiccans: worshippin' Nexus an' her Consort the Ram God, but this I doubt."

"Why?"

"Me best friend at home-in Ireland, I mean-she be a Wiccan, an' has told me sommat o' her faith an' practices. But she be not a violent person," Carol explained hastily, "an I cannae imagine her standin' by an watchin' sommat like this bein' done to another, an' doin' nothin' aboot it."

Frigga's eyes widened. "Were there _witnesses_ to your violation that took no action?"

Carol shuddered. "Aye, my lady," she said hoarsely, "there were two: a man name o' Torvald, an' a woman name o' Svana. Torvald...he protested the Coven's use o' me pain in the ritual, for I did nae offer it willingly. Svana," Carol's eyes grew distant, and her voice shook, "they did the same to her, years ago, so I think she knows nothin' else. Svana...she tol' me to jest _relax_, and let be what would happen, an' I would nae be killed, e'en as she was not."

"Would that not have been easier, Julesang?" Niorun asked gently. "Would it not have eased your pain?"

"Nay," Carol said hoarsely, "I would still ha' been raped, an' tortured, an' humiliated, an' used like an object, e'en if I had submitted. I would ha' traded in me honor and me faith for a rut in the woods that were offered up to a daemon. My body they could take, an' they did, but me mind and me spirit they cannae touch. Such belongs to my God," she said fiercely.

"The same god that sat back and did nothing, even as Torvald and Svana did, while you suffered," the Queen said sharply. "It was not a messenger of your god that rescued you, but a son of Asgard! Where now should your faith lie, if not in the very beings you have dismissed? Do you not yet realize how misplaced was your trust? How can you still call 'god' someone who requires so much of you, yet offers so little in return?"

Carol thought the Queen's challenge to her faith monumentally unfair. It reminded her of Hallbjorn's attitude hours before her rape. Worse, she had been struggling with the same feelings since awakening in the 'hospital'. Indeed, she felt guilty that another person-a stranger at that-could voice her doubts so precisely. Despite her doubts and questions, the accusation still rankled. Something wasn't _right_.

"Your Majesty," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "before yesterday mornin', Asgard were a thing o' fairy tales to me, an' not a real place. T'was only when the Merchant struck me down, an' Thor revealed himself, that I learnt both that Asgard were _real_, an' that I were _in_ it. I ha' given my word to your husband, King Odin, that I would obey the laws o' your land as best as I ken, an' to His Majesty that were enough. Be more than that needed?"

"You might recognize the true _nature_ of your hosts, child," the Queen said firmly. "Your ancestors worshipped us."

Niorun gave her Queen a questioning look, but was silenced by a glare and a wave of Frigga's hand.

Something inside of Carol's head went _snap_. Enough was enough.

"Your Majesty," she said carefully, "ken I speak freely here?"

Frigga nodded regally. "Aye, child, and welcome."

"I think I understand what ye mean, now," Carol began, "but me knowledge o' your proper titles be out o' date, and mired in obscurity. The tales are old and contradict each other. What be you the goddess o', properly?"

Frigga sipped her tea and set her cup down primly. "I am the All-Mother, the Goddess of marriage and fidelity, civilization, clouds, fertility, love, and motherhood," she said firmly.

Carol's eyes widened. "All that?"

The Queen nodded. "All that."

"An' bein' the goddess o' all these _things_...what do that mean, exactly? My concept o' what God is must be different than what you mean, I think," Carol explained.

"Not so much, child. A god or goddess has absolute power and authority over their respective patronage, and is the embodiment of it. My son Baldr, for example, is god of both light and justice. You saw him incandesce in the courtroom just before we left, as well as dispense justice decreed by the All-Father. Thor-the God of Thunder and Lightning-can both control storms and summon them," Frigga explained.

Carol nodded thoughtfully. "So, as the goddess o' marriage an' fidelity..."

"I set the standards for marriage, am invoked at weddings, and settle disputes of infidelity between spouses," the Queen explained.

"Then your title is a cruel one," Carol said flatly. "You claim the right to enforce fidelity between married people on Earth-on Midgard-when it is obvious you cannae do so in your own house an' in your own realm."

Niorun dropped her teacup. "How _dare_ you! Do you not know the power of the woman you so accuse?"

She would have said more, incensed, but Frigga held up a hand. "Let the child speak. I did give her permission for this," she declared. Turning to Carol, the Queen smiled icily. "But have a care how you speak, child. One word from me, and shalt find yourself in the dungeon, or worse."

Carol nodded. A ball of ice seemed to be forming in her chest; she was _tired_ of being pushed around!

"I saw 5 o' the royal princes this day, Queen Frigga: Thor, Loki, Baldr, Hodr, an' Tyr. King Odin called them to the court," Carol began.

Frigga nodded. "I was there, child. I remember."

"According to legend, Odin has many more sons than those five. Be that true?"

"It is," Frigga said stiffly. "What of it?"

"Forgive me, your Majesty. How many of these sons did you _bear_?"

Frigga inhaled, and the look on her face told Carol she had struck a nerve.

Right then, she didn't care.

"According to legend, the sons o' Odin be nearly twenty; the sons born by Frigga be but three: Baldr, Hodr, an' Tyr," Carol said coldly. "Be that correct?"

Queen Frigga stiffened even as Niorun erupted in protest.

"How _dare_ you! You suggest that the Crown Prince is a bastard! My Queen raised both Thor and Loki since infancy, and is the only Mother either of them has ever known! You should..."

Frigga held up a hand. "Silence, old friend. The child is correct."

Niorun sputtered and gasped, but fell silent.

"I bore neither Thor nor Loki. Indeed, I have born only three sons, while my husband has many children, by many different women. You are correct."

Niorun gasped like a fish, and Frigga gave her a pitying look, but Carol's face remained resolute.

"Thor indeed was born on Midgard, in the country you now call Norway, so he has a special affinity for that realm that even he does not understand. Thor does not know this, and _you shall not tell him_," Queen Frigga commanded sternly. "That is his Father's secret to reveal, in His time, and no-one else's."

"As you wish, my Queen," Niorun said respectfully, bowing her head.

"As you wish, Queen Frigga," Carol echoed, "I will not speak o' this with anyone."

"But speak more now you must, Julesang," the Queen said coldly, "for there is more to this statement than what you have given."

Carol nodded. "My point is this, your Majesty. You wish me to acknowledge you as goddess o' marriage an' fidelity, but it be obvious that such power is not yours to command, not here in your own house, with your own husband! If you cannae keep your _own_ husband at home, how can you answer others' prayers for the same help? Your title then seems to be given in mockery, an' not in power," Carol said bluntly. "I will not offer such mockery to my hostess: rubbin' her family's failin's in her face by callin' her such a goddess. A Queen you are, an' o' a powerful people, to be sure. I'm thankful for my rescue, especially since t'was from your altar that I was taken. But you couldna keep your husband faithful any more than you could keep the Coven from rapin' me on your table. So why should I call you goddess?"

Niorun was flabbergasted, and Frigga's face was set like stone.

"You realize I could have your head for this?" Frigga said softly.

"Those what worshipped Surtr tried to take that two weeks ago, your Majesty. Dost wish now that you had let them finish?" Carol answered stiffly.

"I should call the guard, my Queen," Niorun offered.

"You will do no such thing, Niorun," Frigga said, her demeanor suddenly softening. "The child has done well."

"What?" said Carol, guardedly.

"You stood your ground against a bullying queen, my dear, who took advantage of both your weakness and your situation. More than that, you returned the attack given you in words, and finished with greater honor despite the forces arrayed against you."

Carol didn't speak. Her head was spinning.

"**_I bullied you on purpose_**, child. If you can stand so against me, **_the Queen of Asgard_**, you can stand against your foul memories." Frigga's chin lifted, and Carol felt hers coming up as well. "You would avoid facing the crime against you, fearing the emotions that tear at your heart and mind. Pay them **no heed**, and stand against them, for they would **bully** you even as I just did. You did right to stand against me, e'en though you knew the risk! Expose the ones who violated you! You are safe here! The shame belongs to them, and not yourself. Let judgment fall where judgment must, but know that you, yourself, are **_innocent of wrongdoing_**. Let no-one, man, woman, or self, tell you otherwise in this matter."

"Thank you, my lady," Carol whispered

"Even so," Frigga nodded, smiling. "Drink your tea, child. It will settle your stomach."

A few snacks later Carol felt much better.

"Julesang," Niorun began, when they had settled down again, "I have seen pieces of your attack in your mind, these past few weeks, but they were images and disjointed. I would start by showing you a rendering of each person I saw, and have you identify them: if you can."

Carol nodded. "All right."

Carol had expected drawings of some sort: sketches of what Niorun had seen in two weeks of dreaming. She was surprised when Niorun pulled out a candle and a snuffer. Niorun lit the candle with another taper and let it burn a moment, then snuffed it out and collected smoke in the snuffer's bell. That smoke Niorun somehow pulled from the bell with her fingers and _snap_...a face was formed in the mist. It seemed almost solid gray, but the features were plain. Carol scowled.

"Can you name this person?" Niorun prodded.

"Aye," Carol growled, "that be Hallbjorn."

"You are especially angry with him," Niorun said softly, "more so than most of the others. Why?"

"He went first," Carol said bitterly. "I had wanted to save that moment for me weddin' night, but now..."

"Your maidenhood is intact, Carol," Queen Frigga insisted. "The shame is his and not yours. He hurt your** body**; not your **honor**. Any man-or woman-who says otherwise is a **fool**," she said firmly.

"But I'll always know what he...what they all did...I cannae imagine bein' able to give meself to another, not without thinkin' o..." tears sprung up, and Carol wiped them angrily away. "'Tis not **fair**!" she cried.

"You run ahead on the path, Julesang," Niorun soothed. "If you had broken your leg a fortnight ago, would you seek to climb a mountain now, or curse your inability to do so? Nay. Give yourself time to heal. Let us deal with the present. Today is enough, without seeking tomorrow's trouble."

Carol sniffled and nodded. Frigga handed her another handkerchief.

"Can you now identify this person?" Niorun prodded, producing another puff of smoke-likeness.

The interview lasted another half-hour, and by the end of it there were smoke-images floating in almost every mirror in the room. Some had names, but many did not. Carol did not know the identity of the High Priest, for example, or many of the other Coven members. All but the High Priest looked like they were in their early 20's. Niorun isolated the core group responsible for Carol's rape.

"How did you know these people?" Queen Frigga asked. "They bear the responsibility for your violation. How did they gain your trust for this event?"

Carol's jaw twitched and her hands clenched into fists. She could almost feel pity for Svana, knowing the girl had suffered a fate similar to her own, but Lilijana? Torvald? Bjarni?

"Julesang," the Queen prodded.

Carol shook, looking at Frigga. Her jaw twitched.

"How knew you these people?"

Carol's eyes slammed shut and tears ran freely. _How indeed?_

"How knew you these people?" Frigga prodded, softly. "How were you betrayed?"

The scream seemed to burst out of Carol's chest, unbidden and vile, accompanied by tears and clenched fists...

**_"THEY WERE MY FRIENDS!"_**

Queen Frigga threw her arm around Carol's shoulders and held the young woman as she sobbed. She gave Niorun a questioning glance, and the Patroness of Unconscious Thought nodded.

"Enough for one day, my lady,"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Loki almost fell out of his chair.

He had watched the entire interview, of course: monitoring the exchanges in the mirrors set up by Frigga. The Midgardian had courage; that was plain. Few people could stand up to the Queen of Asgard in such a manner. Mother had baited her well; he had recognized the tactic almost at once. Many people could put on a brave front, but their true nature would come out when backed into a corner. Julesang had done very well.

In fact, she had slipped in a few sucker-punches of her own.

Thor was a bastard? The mighty, bronzed, perfect Crown Prince of Asgard...was illegitimate.

_AND BORN ON MIDGARD? _

Loki remembered the intense blue eye that hit him through the mirror.

_"YOU SHALL NOT TELL HIM. THAT IS HIS FATHER'S SECRET TO REVEAL, IN HIS OWN TIME."_

Loki knew the command was meant for him as well. He would not, _could not_ tell Thor, no matter how much he wanted to rub it into his stuffy brother's face.

It would break his mother's heart.

And she would always be his mother: Loki knew that deep in his heart. He had learned magic and mischief, and the love of books and learning, at her knees. Maybe someday he would ask his Father about his birth mother, but not today. No, not today. Loki had seen the stricken look on Frigga's face, _knowing that he knew_, and fretting that knowledge.

_No matter where I go, no matter what I become, you will always be my Mother. _

Loki sent the message in smoke to Frigga's mirror, and received a ghost of a smile in return.

Loki scowled down at the data gathered from the Julesang's interview. A Coven that worshipped Surtr, committing violence on Frigga's own altar, was a serious offense.

The shifting images held by the mirrors told him something else. Julesang had shrugged away the appearance of horns, fangs, and talons; she thought them due to the horror of her attack and the presence of a hallucinogen. Loki wasn't certain they were hallucinations, though. Some of the marks on Julesang's skin looked suspiciously like animal bites and claw marks.

Therefore, some of her attackers were not human.

But what race would claim to worship Surtr?

Loki ruled out the Frost Giants. There had been no evidence of freezing injury, and a rut with a Jotun would have killed her instantly. They stood thirty feet high, not six.

The Fire Giants of Musphelheimr were out as well, despite the flame damage. They would not have needed to kindle a fire to heat branding metal: a hand-touch would have done it. And there was the size difference to think about: twenty feet vs. six.

Helheimr was out. Hela couldn't stand Surtr long enough to speak cordially to the Fire-Giant King, and her zombies couldn't get it up long enough to commit a rape.

Loki pondered the Dwarves, and dismissed them. No facial hair on any of the miscreants, at least none to speak of, and dwarves considered the length of their beards a measure of their virility. Plus, they never grew horns or claws.

The Aesir were out. Even half-breed Aesir/human crosses would have been larger than the people Baldr described.

That left elves.

Loki shifted uncomfortably. The dark elves, especially, had a thing for sexual violence. They were infamous for bride-capture across many different realms in centuries past, but had supposedly reformed. Crossbreeds, though, were dangerous and unstable. Fortunately for the rest of the Nine realms, they were also sterile.

Unless a sorcerer had risen among them that had made a pact with Surtr to correct that problem. That would be troubling. Humans bred at an alarming rate. Reproducing Half-Dark-Elves would be a scourge within a few generations, easily producing an army that would sweep across...

Everything.

Loki looked down at his data. The theory worked...but it was only a theory. He needed _proof_ before he could approach the All-Father.

"Damn." He muttered.

TBC


	13. Salvo

The Coven discussed Jamiann's and James' dreams for an hour, trying to understand the symbols in both, and John corrected Jami on Surtr's identity.

"He's not a demon like your friend Carol would think of, dear. Surtr is more like a fire elemental, just a really powerful one. We don't call on him because he doesn't associate with the Lord and Lady. He's really from the Old Norse mythos-Odin and the like-and a mite touchy," he explained.

"Oy, I feel bad, then. I tried to warn Carol off from this group thinkin' Surtr were a demon. What if she said somethin' insulting in the middle o' their ceremony? It would be my fault for sure!"

"Were that the case, you wouldn'a be having dreams o' this beast in the forest, darlin'. Somebody there meant evil, sure enough. It wouldn'a be the first time a religion were high-jacked for evil means," the High Priestess pointed out.

"Erin, be you alright?" Sean asked. The company turned to the Water initiate, who did indeed look a little...off. She had paled so that her blue veins all stuck out, and goose-bumps rose all over her skin.

"I dinna feel so good," she admitted. "I think the wine upset me stomach."

"I'll get ye a glass o' water," John offered, disappearing and returning a moment later. Erin sipped gratefully from the glass he provided, but suddenly coughed and sneezed some of it out her nose! Seamus grabbed the glass out of Erin's hands before she could spill water all over their circle, but a little still hit the salt despite his best efforts.

"Erin?" The High Priestess looked at the young woman sharply. "Are you alright?"

"I...I think so," she answered. "Jami, this Carol friend of yours...is she black?"

Jami's head snapped around. "Aye, that she is. Why?"

"Long curly hair an' funny-lookin' eyes? Really focuses on stuff, like a dog with a favorite bone?"

"Aye, that be her. Why?"

"I...I _saw_ her, jest now," Erin reached for a tissue to blot the water now coming out of her nose, "a black gerl with long dark hair, an' bent over a desk, rubbin' her head. She looked troubled, an' unwell, an' the words on the screen in front o' her be 'Via Dolorosa: The Secret Shame of Dating Violence on Campus.'"

"What else do you see?" The High Priestess' voice was sharp, and Erin nodded and closed her eyes.

"Books...papers...'tis a _mess_," the girl continued.

"That be Carol's room, all right," Jami nodded.

Erin frowned. "There be marks on the gerl's neck, an' on her wrists...like finger-marks...but I cannae be sure. She's rubbin' her neck now...an'...an'...there's _shadows_ in the room...flittin' back an' forth..."

"Like bugs?" John asked.

Erin shook her head. "Nay, like people, but...off-camera belike, getting' between the subject an' the light-source." She frowned again. "'Tis fuzzy, an' hard to see..." Suddenly the girl gasped. "They...they're _hitting_ her...in the head! An' rammin' her in the side!"

"Minions," snapped the High Priestess, "servants o' the Fallen. Join hands, all. 'Tis a message from the Lady we're getting'! She's tryin' ta help your friend, for sure, Jamiann!"

The Circle closed ranks, firmly gripping each other's hands, except for John and Jamiann, who put arms around Erin to support her. The young girl gasped.

"I...I can't _see_ properly...like looking at something across an aquarium...There's a woman with your friend...tall an' elegant...like Nexus...an' she's tryin' ta get her attention...but she canna hear her...or won't _listen_..."

Jami's grip tightened on Erin's waist, and she looked across the circle to her aunt, stricken.

"Carol wouldn't listen to the Lady if she _could_ hear her...she's Catholic! She's been commanded not to..." Jami began, panicked, but was cut off by Erin suddenly gripping her hand.

**"She will listen to you, child."**

The voice was _NOT_ Erin's. It was deep and breathy, and made the hair on her neck prickle.

**"She will listen to her friend."**

Jami looked Erin in the eyes, and felt a lump growing in her throat. Erin's pupils had narrowed almost to disappearing.

**"There are many minions, Fire-Keeper. They inhabit the waters in the seas and the clouds in the air and the fog on the land. They would snuff out your flame. They cloud your friend's thinking. She writes of a secret shame near her, not knowing who she threatens: a priest who stands against her. She is overmatched, and must withdraw!"**

"Who is it, my Lady?" Jami implored. "Tell me and I will warn her!"

Erin gasped, and more water came out of her nose. John handed her a towel, which she plastered to her face.

**"The minions! Minions of the Fallen One! Too much power, and too tricky for Water to carry!"** Erin coughed again. **"The Fire-Keeper will hear! Kindle ye in secret, feed your flame and not your flesh! Then listen, and you shall hear, and so speak!" **

Erin began coughing again, and even more water bubbled out of her mouth, until she leaned over, retching. Jami grabbed a nearby wastebasket for her young friend, and held her hair back until the girl's stomach was empty. When she finished retching, Erin sat back up again, and her eyes were normal. She shivered.

"Oy, that was hard. What happened?" She stared at the stunned faces of her surrounding Coven members. "What did I say?"

The Priestess exhaled sharply. "Wow. That were intense. How do you feel, Erin child?"

"Erm...all sweaty and waterlogged and...spent. Like I've been swimmin' all day after workin' in the hot sun." Erin frowned. "The last thing I remember is seein' an image o' a black college gerl bent over a desk. What happened?"

"We had a direct message from the Lady, Erin dear," the Priestess said. "She and the Lord are tryin' to help Jami's friend, e'en though she's not a believer. 'Tis strange, but the Cosmos be a large place."

"Carol was workin' on a paper before all o' this happened," Jami reminded them, "an' she were workin' with another Coven in Iceland. Mayhap she ran into sommat with those folks that sparked this other paper she's writin', though I canna imagine what class t'would be for."

Sean frowned. "That title don't sound like any academic paper I've ever read, Jami: more like a newspaper article or editorial. This friend o' yours, be she any bit o' a Crusader?"

Jamianne pursed her lips. "You could say that, aye."

"Could she be workin' for the school paper?"

Jami frowned. "I dinna know. I'll have to ask Mum an' Da. 'Twould be just like her, though."

"The Lady warned your Carol were crossin' a powerful priest...an evil man. Could be the local Coven's priest, you think?" John asked.

Seamus vigorously shook his head. "The Lady said _priest_, not _priestess_. Chances are good her enemy be her own Catholic bishop. Look at how many be arrested in America for molestin' children! An' if she's not careful, Carol could become the target o' such a man! They be vengeful!"

"We can sit here all night puzzlin' this oot," the Priestess said firmly, "but Jami's directions are clear."

"They are?" Jami looked surprised, but her aunt nodded.

"Jamiann Ohaoda, you are Fire-Keeper to this Circle," the Priestess said firmly. "Your Lady has told you to '_kindle your flame in secret, to feed your flame and not your flesh'_. You must go into seclusion, child, and fast for a time to purify your mind and heart, and make yourself more receptive to the Voices of Nexus an' her Consort. When your flame burns pure, they will speak to you without hindrance, an' then you can warn your friend o' her danger," she explained.

Jamiann took a deep breath. "Oh," was all she could say.

They spent a little more time in the Circle before going their separate ways. Jami really wanted to cast a location spell to find Carol, but John pointed out that they lacked a comprehensive map of Iceland, much less Reykjavik, for such a task. Several other members shared favorite spells and wards for knowledge and protection, and the High Priestess pulled out several new tapers and a moon symbol for Jami to set up in her house.

"Yee'll need these for your meditatin', child," she said, pushing the items into her hands.

They all ate again; Jami's aunt pulled out the rest of the stew. It had been a long night, and she didn't want Jami to pass out on the way home from hunger. Her fast would start on the morrow. After several more embraces, Jami climbed into her old car and started for home.

It was getting dark.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The prayer circle took a break after an hour, sipping on some more tea and nibbling some cookies (Gracie had brought those), and they practiced some hymns Sarah had picked out of the missal (the ladies were also part of the choir).

They returned to prayer after their break, but somehow Mary Grace seemed changed. She looked tired, or stretched, and Rose asked her about it.

"I dinnae feel well, and no mistake," she admitted. "Mebbe it's sommat I et at luncheon. I'll be fine, though."

They recited a rosary, and decided on the wording of the novena to say for Carol. When Mary Grace crossed herself to offer the Lord's Prayer, though, she gasped and doubled over, clutching her chest.

"Mary Grace!" Bridget exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder. "Call an ambulance!" she exclaimed to her friends.

"NO!" Mary Grace's voice was strong. "T'is my spirit, an' not my heart. Get Father Francis!" She gasped and doubled over again, and her hand fisted in her abdomen.

"But Mary..." Bridget protested...

**_"DO AS I SAY!"_** The old nun bellowed. A strong, withered hand grabbed Bridget by the shoulder, pulling the younger woman down to her face. "This be from the Lord, child. Your Carol...she's fine. But there's evil afoot, some foul work of the devil, an' if we're not watchful, blood will be shed tonight." She gasped and doubled over again, and a deep moan escaped her lips. "She's all alone...poor child...ah!"

Rose had reached the Sister's side. "Who? Who is it?"

"Pray with me, sisters," the old nun gasped, "her life is in danger!"

"Who, Mary Grace?" Father Francis had come running at Fiona's summons. "Who is it?"

"The Lord says..." Mary Grace turned confused eyes to Bridget, "'Tis not Carol endangered. 'Tis your other daughter...Ja...Jami..."

"Jamiann?" Bridget cried out in alarm.

"Yes." The nun gasped again, and doubled over. Her burden was great. When she sat up again there was blood seeping from her nose. "_They will try to kill her tonight."_

**_"WHO?"_**

The old woman sighed. "_I dinna know."_ Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she dabbed at her nose with a spare napkin. "We just...we need to pray..."

"Sisters," Father Francis said, grabbing Mary Grace's hand and Fiona's, "this is _war_. Bridget, sit down here in the middle. Sarah, Rose: Form a circle. Gracie, get Friar Bacon and come back to us. We need more intercessors! Place your hands on Bridget, now, all, and lift this child's life up. May the Lord send her deliverance! Protect her with Thy messengers!"

_We bind unto this child today  
The virtues of the starlit heaven,  
The glorious sun's life-giving ray,  
The whiteness of the moon at eve,  
The flashing of the lightning free,  
The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,  
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,  
Around the old eternal rocks._

We bind unto this child today  
The power of God to hold and lead,  
His eye to watch, His might to stay,  
His ear to hearken to my need.  
The wisdom of our God to teach,  
His hand to guide, His shield to ward,  
The word of God to give me speech,  
His heavenly host to be her guard.

Against all Satan's spells and wiles,  
Against the knowledge that defiles,  
Against the strike both fore and aft  
Against the wizard's evil craft,  
Against the death wound and the burning,  
The choking wave and the poisoned shaft,  
Protect her, Christ, till Thy returning.

The church basement shook slightly, as if a heavily-laden truck passed outside it, and a stiff breeze blew through, ruffling the folders and posters neatly stacked against the walls...

But still the small group prayed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jamiann left her aunt's house feeling a little better. Circle tonight had been odd, but it had ended well. She was going into seclusion for 3 days, to cleanse and prepare for whatever the goddess should decide to do next. She would pay attention to any dreams that came her way, especially while fasting. Herbs had been prepared, and she would set wards around her house. She was already carrying a small sachet of rock salt and herbs, for protection, as well as the new moon symbol and a scarf. These she would sleep with.

Jami was tired. Right now a hot bath sounded like a good idea. She could hardly wait to get home. She wanted that _bath_, and a good _sandwich_, and her _books_, and her _peace candles_, and her soothing _incense_...

And these damned sheep to get out of her way. Honestly, since when did shepherds move their flocks at night? They were all over the road!

Jami bonked her head against her steering wheel. She tried beeping her horn, but the sheep only looked at her, insulted. What, move? In the dark? Was she kidding?

"Sorry, missy," said a strange man. He appeared at her elbow just as she rolled down her window to yell at the stubborn ewes that folded their legs down, stuck their noses in the air, and chewed their cud at her. Jami jumped. He was scruffy looking, but not unhandsome. Obviously he spent a lot of time outdoors. His hair was curly, like the lamb's wool, and salt-and pepper colored, but his face looked young.

"Sorry, miss," he apologized again, touching his hat. "Me sheep seem to ha' broken through a spot in their fence, an' are intent on campin' on the concrete tonight. I think they like the warm stone, 'stead o' the cool ground. I've friends comin' to help me move 'em, but could take some time. Can ye turn aboot, an' take another road?"

Jami scowled at the sheep in front of her. "Blasted mutton chops, the lot o' ya," she groused, and beeped her horn at them again. The shepherd only shrugged, but one of the rams took offense at her, and lowered his horns to butt at the front of her vehicle.

"MAAAAAAAAAAAA!" it said, offended.

Jami turned around, and took a different road.

Five miles later she came across a police roadblock. The Peeler that shone the light in her face was enormous, but nice enough.

"Sorry Missy," he explained, "but there's been a bad accident up ahead, an' this road is blocked. Probably be that way all night. Where be you headed?"

Jamiann explained where she lived, and he nodded.

"Aye, I know that road. You take the next intersection now, and take that road for aboot five miles, an' then cut back. You'll get there, and no mistake. Drive safe, now, an' watch for deer."

"And sheep," she muttered.

The roundabout way took her nearly by the Dahl's house again, and for a moment Jamiann thought about knocking on their door. It was tempting. She was _very_ tired, but home wasn't that far away.

She was almost home...

The man that stepped in front of her car was a stranger, and she had to swerve to avoid him, and once again, _he was surrounded by sheep_. There were sheep all over Ireland, of course, but she didn't remember any farms in _this_ area. She slammed on her brakes, cursing in frustration as she twisted the wheel, and almost put her car in a ditch. She narrowly kept it on the road, and when she looked in her rear-view mirror, he was gone. Was it her imagination, or had his hair been nearly white?

She scowled and kept driving. Finally, her old car lumbered to the top of the last hill, and she could look down on her little cottage...

And the shepherd was back: _in front of her car!_ She slammed brake and jumped out to yell at the scruffy-looking man, but he whirled around, and his staff

**_BECAME A FLAMING SWORD THRUST THROUGH HER ENGINE!_**

The man's hair glowed like molten steel, and his tattered clothing becamerobes thatshone like lightening**_._**_**Sun-fire wings**__**blazed out of his back, churning the air like a helicopter, and every plant and stone was thrown into stark relief with the light!**_

Jamiann cowered right there in the road as her car sputtered and died: paralyzed with fear. The shining figure _burned_ her eyes, and the wind churned up by his wings threw dust into her face. Eyes that churned like lava turned towards her, and Jami scuttled backwards, crablike, to escape him.

**"Jamiann Ohaodha,"** his voice was as deep as the sea, **"Gracious Representative of Fire; you are greatly loved. Do not fear me."**

Jamiann whimpered. Fear? She was _beyond_ fear, and seriously considered wetting her pants. She switched to her knees and crawled as fast as she could, breath coming in gasps, only to find herself hedged in by sheep.

**_Sheep that burst into flame. Towers of flame that rustled and crackled, shooting up ten feet high. Some had ram's horns, some had glowing, wool-like hair. All had swords, flaming wings that surrounded her, glowing eyes that pierced her soul, hands that stretched out and hemmed her in, and deep, rustling, crackling voices that murmured "Stop, Jamiann."_**

_There was no escape_. Jami flipped herself over to see the car-killer floating the few feet between them, born aloft by flaming wings that churned up a hot hurricane. She let out a cry and buried her head in her arms, crossing her hands in front of her, her mind numb.

**"Do not fear me, child. No harm will come to you. Be at peace! Be strong and very courageous!"**

Jami steeled herself. Since when did an Irish woman fear death? If it was her time, she wanted to face it with honor. She took a deep breath, and looked up.

The eyes still burned, but the fire, she saw at once, was one of _love_, not pain and death. _Who? Why? _Thunderous wings folded around her, but instead of blistering her body, Jamiann felt warm...protected. Her fear began to evaporate...

**"Have peace, child, and hear me. For ****_your_**** protection was I sent. The road before you leads to your death."**

Protection? Death? What? Jamiann's head was spinning. There was a freaking glowing man with a freaking glowing sword sticking out of her car's engine block, and if she hadn't spat out the sour wine at her aunt's house, Jami would have sworn she was drunk.

**"You are not drunk, Jamiann Ohaodha. I am Malakh-Shomer, sent by Michael at the intercession of one you call a Mother. You are greatly loved. Turn away from the path you are on now, lest you die." **

Jami nodded. Her mouth still wouldn't work.

**"Do not go down to your house, Jamiann Ohaodha, not for so much as a shawl. Seek the house of your other parents: the ones who asked for me."**

Jami nodded again. "Carol?" she croaked.

**"You will go with James to the Land of Ice. Take nothing not already in your possession, unless Bridget gives it to you. When you meet anyone new, accept only what is given you with two hands, or that you buy, or that you find yourself on the ground. You may trust a beast or a bird, but be cautious around people. Many are false. Beware those who put on a mask. Watch for the innocent one; her you must save."**

Jami nodded again. "My friends?"

**"Do not speak to your Coven. They are deceived and cannot help you. Worlds are colliding, Jamiann Ohaodha, and you must open your eyes. I will be with you. Now GO."**

So saying, the giant angel (for that is what he was) rustled his wings and pulled his sword out of Jamiann's car. The engine rumbled to life again, and Jami pulled herself out of the dirt. The flaming wall of soldiers evaporated into the night without a trace. Climbing into the driver's seat, she glanced down at her little cottage one last time.

Three heartbeats later it erupted into a fireball.

Jamiann choked back a sob. If she had been home...

Malakh-Shomer raised his sword, pointing it back towards the Dahl's house, and disappeared.

Jamiann shuddered, but turned the wheel.

Ten minutes later she arrived at the Dahl's house, dirty and shaken and blubbering. James met her in the driveway, and when he saw the shape she was in, he scooped her up and carried her into the house.

She was, after all, their 'other' daughter: Carol's best friend.

Two quick calls from James dispatched firemen to Jamiann's flaming house, and brought Bridget home in a rush from the prayer circle. The woman took one look at Jami's tear-streaked face and threw her arms around her, sobbing with relief. Hiccupping, Jami told the Dahls of the difficulty getting home and encountering Malakh-Shomer.

"An' Da...he said we ha' ta go ta Iceland, ta rescue somebody," she finally croaked.

James Dahl stroked his other daughter's hair and looked solemnly at Bridget.

"Then, by heaven, we're goin'!" He said grimly.

TBC


	14. Visitation

A/N Much thanks to my few loyal readers! I would love to hear your take on the story, especially from readers in the European Union! Don't worry about leaving me a message I can't understand; I'll run it through a translating program on my end. R&R please! Your Icelandic lesson for the day: rækja=shrimp faðma=hug ófreskja=monster

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Loki strode thoughtfully down the path to Eir's House: hands clasped behind him and his eyes studying the trail. He didn't normally visit the clinic; biology was Thor's territory, and Loki's seidr was more in tune with physics than the ordering of living things. Still, he had a puzzle on his hands, so that meant going out of his comfort zone.

The clinic was quiet when he arrived. Luncheon was over, and many of the staff and patients were either resting or doing small tasks. Loki found Lady Eir bent over her desk, making notations in a client file of some sort. Her mouth was set in a frown.

He knocked on the doorframe. "Lady Eir?"

She blinked at the sudden intrusion and squinted at the prince framed in the doorway light, but her face relaxed when she recognized Prince Loki.

"Hello, you're Majesty. How may I assist you today?" She peered at what she could see of his form. "You haven't injured yourself with some new spell, have you? You seem intact..."

Loki smiled at the woman's gentle ribbing. A little teasing among professionals never hurt anyone, and helped ease stress.

"I am fine, Lady Eir. But I find myself with a puzzle that lacks a few pieces. I hoped to pick up a few here in your clinic," he admitted.

"Sit down, please, and welcome," she said, rolling up the scroll she had been working on. "What is the nature of your puzzle?"

"I am working on a theory as to the identity of Lady Julesang's attackers," Loki began after settling into a chair. "I suspect that the altered forms she saw during her violation were not drug-induced hallucinations, but actual shape-shifting that took place during the assault."

Lady Eir nodded. "You suspect that her attackers were not Midgardians," she guessed.

"Correct. I was hoping to analyze the genetic markers from their...abandoned seed...if I could. I presume you ran the usual post-violation wash of Lady Julesang's core, and tested any genetic material? While she knew several of her attackers, some of them were strangers to her," he informed the medic.

Lady Eir scowled. "Your mother and I did the wash, aye. But the clinic has been beset by a number of clients and extraneous duties since then, including the Merchant Ragur's trial, and we are short-staffed. I have not been able to do the necessary tests to isolate any one attacker's genetic code, much less all of them."

Loki was taken aback. "The entire wash remains untested?"

"Aye, it is. It has been in cold storage, so should still be in good shape, but untested it is."

Loki pondered this for a moment. Every hour's delay meant the Coven that violated Lady Julesang would escape justice, and that was unthinkable. He wanted to get his hands on these barbarians _now_.

"Lady Eir," he said slowly after a moment's thought, "would you mind if I tested the material personally? If I am right about the Coven's genetic trace, there could be more here at stake than one woman's virtue. Not that her virtue is unimportant, mind you," he hastily explained, "but there may be a bigger problem accompanying this crime."

"You are always welcome here, Prince Loki. It would be a relief to my heart, knowing there is less delay in seeking justice for that poor child," Eir admitted. She rose and led the Prince to the testing facility at the back of the house. "You will find everything you need here," she said, pulling open several different cabinets, "and the cold storage is yonder. The attackers' seed is clearly marked with Lady Julesang's name and date she entered the clinic. Oh, beware of the _faðma ófreskja_, too. It has a tendency to attack the legs when you least expect it," she gave the Dark Prince a knowing smile, and after a moment he understood.

"You have a hug monster in the clinic, eh? Well, it could be worse. You could have trolls. Or a broken-hearted Fandral the Dashing. Or Volstagg with indigestion. Or..."

**_WHAM_**, a small body suddenly collided with Prince Loki's left leg. He mock-scowled down at the tiny golden head, and the arms-one still in a cast, that wrapped around his calf.

"Hmmm. Not many people can sneak up on the Dark Prince of Asgard, little _rækja_," he chided playfully. "You are especially quiet on your feet, little one." He reached down and peeled Edelstenn Ragirdottir off of his leg. "Come up, and let me look at you! Are you well?"

Edelstenn smiled and blushed. "Yes," she burbled happily.

"You should say 'Yes, my lord Prince,' to your Prince," Lady Eir admonished.

Edelstenn's eyes widened, but she nodded her head again. "Yes, my Lord Prince, especially since," she looked around guiltily and clapped a hand over her little mouth.

"Especially since what?" Prince Loki prodded. "Seidr got your tongue?"

Edelstenn leaned in to whisper in her Prince's ear. "Especially since my Papa isn't here," she said in a scandalized tone. "Please don't think I'm bad!"

"Never," Loki promised, and gave the tot a kiss on the head. "Now go run and play," he said, setting her down.

Lady Eir waited until Edelstenn was out of earshot to explain. "Ragur the Disgraceful came to my clinic after his sentence was carried out, and expected me to set his arms aright, even as I had done to his dottir's." Her face hardened. "I sent him away, and told him to find a healer he felt he could _trust_, since he saw fit to lie to my face when it was his dottir's health on the line."

Loki nodded appreciatively. "Nicely handled. Any luck finding the child's mother's kin?"

Eir smiled. "Aye. Her mother's sister will be here in a week. In the mean-tide the lass runs about hugging any who cross her path. She is a delightful child. She asks about Julesang, too, holding her in esteem."

Loki smiled. "I shall mention it to the maiden. She should be able to visit before the child leaves the clinic." He looked down at his gathered basins and chemicals. "For the nonce, I have vermin to hunt."

"Blessed be thy seidr, Prince Loki."

"Thank you, Lady Eir."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Carol, now called Julesang by the entire Palace, slowly blinked herself awake. The Queen had graciously allotted her quarters in her own wing of the Valholl. Carol thought they were huge, but had been informed that they were small by Aesir standards. Still, she had never slept in a bed the size of a swimming pool before...

Judging by the light, it was easily mid-morning, and some sort of songbird serenaded her from the windowsill. Carol still slept a great deal, but understood from Lady Eir that such was normal. Even with the Aesir transfusion, she was still anemic, and therefore weak. She spent a good deal of her time just eating and sleeping, hoping to regain her strength.

Her hair, at least, was beginning to grow out again. She actually had a little to brush now. That little bit was then dutifully covered up by a head-scarf after she dressed. All the women on this world had _phenomenal_ hair, and Carol was more than a little self-conscious bearing a crew-cut.

She finished washing up alone-again apparently breaking with Aesir guest tradition, since she was supposed to have a maid help her with such things. She just couldn't bear to have more people seeing her skin. The scars were abominable. Then she squirmed into the dress that had appeared on her nightstand. Breakfast had appeared of its own volition after she had risen: a steaming pot of tea with milk and honey, fresh curds and fruit, dark bread and butter. It was all delicious. She saved a few pieces of bread for the songbird and his mate, who seemed to have built a nest above one of her windows. These she set on a plate next to a bowl of clean water on the sill.

"Thank ye for your song, little friend," she said to the cautious bird, who stood at the far end of the sill watching her out of one eye. "Ye sing most sweetly."

The bird, an iridescent-and-blue version of a dove, bobbed his head at her as if he understood, but did not approach the bread until she stepped away. Carol thought he just _might _understand speech; she was in Asgard, after all.

The bird chirped twice, then bobbed a piece of bread in the water-bowl, and flew it up to his mate.

Just as suddenly, there was a knock at her door.

Carol blinked in surprise. She had just been wondering what on Earth...er...Asgard...she was going to do all day. She was certain the royal family had other things to tend to than intergalactic refugees. Who could be knocking?

Carol struggled to pull open the great door, and found a member of the Royal Guard standing just outside. He was tall (most Aesir were, but _this_ man was tall even for one of them) and to her surprise, dark-skinned. His eyes were a rich chocolate with flecks of metallic bronze, and his hair and beard curled downward in tight spirals, unlike Baldr's and Thor's straight blond manes. He placed a thick right hand over his heart and bowed.

"By your leave, Lady Julesang: I am Jarl Rig-Son. My lady the Queen has commanded me to accompany you about the palace and grounds this day, so that you may become accustomed to your new home. Do you fare well enough to stroll a bit with me? You will be quite safe, I assure you."

His voice was deep and resonant, and somehow familiar, though Carol could not imagine where she had heard it before.

"Thank ye," she replied, "that will be lovely."

Carol could tell that Jarl had to walk a good deal slower than he was accustomed to doing, and she apologized for seeming slow. He waved off her concerns, however.

"Art from Midgard, Lady Yulesang, much shorter than am I, and healing. Going slow will teach me some patience. Worry not."

Jarl showed her the sigils stamped onto each of the posts as they passed. As it happened, they were not mere decorations; they were signposts.

"The Vallholl t'is a large place, Lady Yulesang, and thou art not the first visitor here. T'would be a poor host indeed that expected a visitor to know how to get about without some help," he explained.

The Sigils could be looked at, he taught her, but were even easier read with fingers when one knew how. "You may need to find your way in the dark, someday, Lady Yulesang."

They chatted about a number of things as Jarl showed her around the house, and eventually the gardens. Jarl was himself from Midgard, as was his mother, "But my father is the god Rig, so I am the Rig-Son," he explained. "Rig did often visit Midgard, and on one such trip he was offered lodging by a fair lady of Samnia and her wealthy husband."

"I dinna know this place, Jarl," Carol explained.

"You call it Southern Italy now," he continued. "At any rate, though they were wealthy, they had no children. Rig (my father) lay between husband and wyfe that night as they slept, and prayed to bless the couple for their hospitality. Nine months later I was born."

Carol figured she knew exactly how Rig had 'blessed' the couple for their hospitality, but held her tongue on that subject. "Did they have any more bairns after ye?"

"Aye," Jarl nodded, "they were blessed with five sons and two dottirs. I could have inherited the family manor, being the eldest, but my Aesir blood did burn within me. When our lands were secure, and my brothers and sisters all settled with their own homes and families, I left the family manor and became an adventurer. I traveled far and wide, and eventually led a cohort of men, and did many battles with both men and beasts. Along the way I finally met my father, the god Rig, and he did reveal himself and his home to me. He had been watching me, he said, from his post in Asgard, and had seen that I had grown to a man of honor and valor. He taught me many things, which I gladly learned, and eventually I followed him here. Asgard is now my home," he said proudly.

"So I am not the only person with family in both Asgard and Earth...Midgard?" Carol asked, amazed.

"Nay," Jarl said, smiling. "Midgard has ever been the wandering place for the restless of Asgard. There is always something new to see, for it changes so quickly, and there have been many romances betwixt maids and warriors o'er the years. Doubtless, being from the Misty Isles yourself, you have heard of some of them, for I understand the tales are still told of a Robber Hood and his Raucous Companions, and the love the bandit had for Maid Miryam."

Carol thought for a moment. "Robin Hood, we say, and his Merry Men, and the romance with Maid Marion, who was ward of the King," she said.

Jarl nodded. "Names change a little over the centuries, but aye, it sounds alike."

"Did you ever marry?" The words had burst from Carol's mouth before she could rein in her curiosity, but Jarl only smiled.

"Aye, indeed. My lady-wyfe is Erna the Fair, Hersirdottir. I won her hand by defeating the Smoke Dragon of Eggrsdown, and bringing back its heart-stone as her bride-price. Her father was loath to bless our union even with such a dowry, dangerous though it was, but when I conquered the beast the entire village rose up in my defense, and we did plight our troth at the dragon's feast. It was quite a party," he said a little wistfully.

"The dragon fed a lot of people, then?" Carol couldn't help but smile.

"Aye, it did. There were 500 men in that village alone, besides women and children, and we feasted on the beasts' flesh for a month in the thick of winter. Dragon meat never goes bad," he explained to her wondering eyes, "nor does it get cold when cooked. It was a great juletide, truly!"

"Do ye have any bairns?"

"Aye, we have 11 sons. My lady-wyfe is a force of nature!"

"Eleven sons? Art trying to catch up to the All-Father?" Carol's eyes were wide, and Jarl laughed.

"Erna did not have them all at once, lass! But she does love being a mother, an' swears she won't give up the bearing until one of our lads makes her a grandmother. Since that has not yet happened in 300 years, I must still provide her with bairns, since I have sworn on my sword to do all to bring her joy in this life."

Carol giggled. "Mayhaps you should question your sons, an' see that they are not in league against you with your lady-wyfe, delaying their own wedding days."

Jarl's face twisted into a thoughtful pucker. "Consider this I had not. T'is good advice, Lady Julesang," he nodded gravely. "I do wish for grandchildren on my knees at least before Ragnarok," he admitted.

By now Carol was feeling winded, and since they had passed into the royal gardens, Jarl found a bench for her to rest upon near a fountain. Jarl himself stood like a sentinel, and helped Carol drink from the fountain. While she refreshed herself, something like a raven fluttered up to Carol's escort, and the man put out his hand. Carol was surprised to see Jarl hold a conversation with the bird, talking quietly and nodding. Was this a norm in Asgard? Jarl eventually turned to her, with the raven still perched on his hand.

"Lady Julesang, the Queen requires your presence today for tea in the solarium, at the second watch post noon-tide," he announced, "and there is a message here from Edelstenn the Young, dottir of Ragir, through the Prince Loki. She misses you, and hopes you will visit Lady Eir's house before she leaves for her kin's-dwelling."

"She is a sweet child. I will have to find a way to get to Lady Eir's house, somehow," Carol nodded, then cocked her head to one side. "A bird said all that?" she asked in wonderment.

Jarl nodded. "Many birds are used in Asgard as message-bearers or chaperones or spies, and understanding their speech is a common gift. It depends on the species, though, as to how they can be used. An eagle or hawk will not stoop to bearing tales, being combat and hunting birds only. Falcons are used for both messaging and hunting by nobility, but Owls say little unless pressed. Sparrows," he confided, "are the absolute _worst_ gossips in the nine realms. They won't lie, but they won't have anything worth listening to, either. Sensible people ignore them. If you want to send a message, trust a dove, a raven, or a crow. They mean business."

"I remember that King Odin keeps two ravens: Huginn and Muninn. Is your companion one of them?" Carol asked, indicating the bird that sat regally on Jarl's hand.

"Nay," he said, shaking his head, "this is Imyndun-'Imagination' in your tongue. She is the egg of Huginn and Muninn, and a great companion."

"I can believe it," Carol nodded. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Imyndun," she said to the bird.

The black bird ruffled her feathers and bowed. "Likewise! Likewise!" She squawked.

"Sir Jarl," Carol said thoughtfully, "there be a pair of nesting songbirds on my windowsill. Be they palace servants as well?"

Jarl nodded. "Aye. They do watch over your sleep, and alert the palace staff when you rise or have another need. The Queen herself did appoint them for you."

"I must remember to thank her," Carol said, deeply touched. Inspiration suddenly struck, and she looked cautiously up at her tall companion. "Jarl...could ye...be it allowed for me to study the language of the birds?"

Jarl looked thoughtful at the request. "I see not why. As I said, 'tis a common gift here in Asgard, and I am not forbidden to teach you. Imyndun," he said, turning to the raven, "would you help us in this venture?"

The raven bobbed up and down excitedly. "Aye! I will! Aye! I will!" it cried out, and hopped off of Jarl's hand. Fluttering over to Carol, it landed on the bench next to her lap. "Perch! Perch!" she cried out.

"Hold out your hand for her, Lady Julesang," Jarl instructed. "She needs to sit on it to speak comfortably."

Carol was surprised at the bird's weight. It felt like a young turkey!

"Now, Lady Julesang," Jarl said, "let us begin..."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Heimdallr paced restlessly at his post. The Bifrost Gate was humming, its energy patterns fluctuating in a way that indicated an incoming traveler, but no Aesir off-realm had asked him to open the portal. Merchants, ambassadorial staff, warriors...each of these parties had their own code to use to alert him to open the gate. He knew all of them by heart; and the pattern presented to him was inconsistent with any Aesir gate pass-code. Visitors from other realms all sent messages through first, asking permission to visit Asgard, as was proper.

But this traveler was not from any of the Nine Realms.

And still the Bifrost Gate hummed and popped.

"Gulltoppr," he commanded grimly, "ready yourself."

His horse-a giant metallic-gold stallion, snorted in agreement. Together with his master the Bifrost Gate was kept safe. He would be ready for any attempted breach.

The Gate started to whirl, and Heimdallr's sword rang out of its sheath. Gulltoppr took up a position between his master and the Rainbow Bridge even as the Gate itself opened...

Just a crack...

Letting slip past a flaming, five-pointed sigil surrounded by the three phases of the Midgardian moon. Colored smoke curled around the fiery image, and a voice whispered out of the smoke...

"Lady Nexus and her Consort the Lord Cernunnos seek peaceful passage to Asgard, seeking an audience with King Odin All-Father and Queen Frigga All-Mother. We bring to their attention a foul violation of interstellar treaty and possible threat to the security of all realms: a complicated piece of mischief, only possible to a master sorcerer. May we pass?"

Heimdallr sheathed his sword and raised a gloved hand. "Gullvæng," he called, "Carry a message to his Majesty," he commanded.

The falcon bowed once, then flew to his master's grip and listened intently while the giant Aesir spoke. The falcon bowed once and listened, then flew off straight for the palace. Two heartbeats later he rematerialized on his post again.

"Granted! Granted," the Falcon said.

Heimdallr drew his sword and stabbed it downwards into the Bifrost Gate control wheel, and the Gate began to turn. It hummed, whirled, _screamed_, and opened with a whirl of fire and gold, and two figures stepped out of the golden haze.

The woman was tall and shapely, wrapped in a flowing Kelly-green mantle that decorated with gold trim, flowers, and vines, while leafy vines wound their way around her bare arms and legs and down to her feet. She held a staff topped off with the waxing, full, and waning moons, and a pentacle hung around her neck. Hair brown as the earth flowed down her back, but Heimdallr noticed it seemed to gradually lengthen and shorten, and to shift from brown to fire-red to gray, and back again. Her skin shown like starlight, and her eyes, blue as the deepest ocean, smiled kindly as she bowed in greeting to Heimdallr.

"Merry we meet, Heimdallr old friend," she said, and her voice was at once young and old, sweet and gravelly.

Her companion was a tall, stern-looking man with deep green skin and completely black eyes: no sclera showed at all. Stag-antlers decorated with torc-amulets sprang from his head, white hair cascaded around his shoulders, and he was clad in simple deerskin leather. A hunting horn hung at his waist, and a bow and quiver hung on his back. He too nodded respectively to Heimdallr.

"Well met indeed, Heimdallr All-Seer, Gatekeeper of the Aesir," intoned the Green Man. His voice boomed like a rockslide.

"Lady Nexus, Lord Cernunnos," Heimdallr intoned, "merry we meet indeed, and welcome to Asgard!" He bowed deeply and waved his massive black hand to where an honor guard had assembled on the Rainbow Bridge. "We have made ready for you."

The Wiccan deities stepped off the Bifrost Observatory, and onto the Rainbow Bridge.

TBC


End file.
